


Sway

by Not Applicable (not_applicable)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: But who needs Albert Schweitzer when the lights are low?, Closet case, Dating, Dinner & Dancing, Dirty Talk, Friends to Lovers, Infidelity, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Frustration, Slow Build, Steve Feels, Steve is sexually frustrated as hell, Team Bonding, he's not really that straight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:52:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_applicable/pseuds/Not%20Applicable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I can hear the sound of violins / long before it begins</i>
</p><p>"I know you’re still finding your way around the 21st century, and I know that when you were young it wasn’t as easy for…you probably got used to playing along to some degree."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There really wasn’t much to see, but still. Steve wanted to see the inside of that room. It was the mystery of Bruce himself that made his bedroom seem like a secret garden, a forbidden place waiting to be found._
> 
> * * *

Steve couldn’t say that he _did_ want to stay at Stark Tower, but he also couldn’t say that he _didn’t._

He and Tony got along better-than-amicably now, as did all of them, really.  Stark had extended the invitation to everyone after their shawarma date, but it was before he took off on his motorcycle that Tony had given Steve a more personal invitation.

“Where ya headin’?”

“Don’t know.  One of my old army buddies is still alive Virginia – barely, but...I don’t know, I’ll probably just go to my place, be bored in Bensonhurst.”

Stark shrugged, hands in his pockets.  “Or you could stay at the tower.  You know S.H.I.E.L.D. is gonna want to debrief us like a million times in the next few weeks...easier than driving a motorcycle over from Brooklyn.  And anyway – living _with us_? With… _this_?” And he waved a hand over their loose congregation – Clint and Natasha were climbing into a flat black roadster and Bruce was fiddling with his watch in the passenger seat of Tony’s Audi.  “Never a dull moment.”

“That’s my concern.”

They just laughed and then Steve sped off, and sure enough, at 10 p.m. he was watching the TV Land station, which was showing some awful show called _Wonder Woman_.

He looked at the sleek laptop that Stark Industries had given him and thought of finding the original ‘War of the Worlds’ broadcast to entertain himself with, but he had to be honest with himself: he didn’t know how to do that.  He looked back at the television to see the woman in a swimsuit spinning in a circle only to suddenly be wearing _another_ swimsuit, and he turned the television off when she took off running, breasts bouncing garishly.

The next day he stepped off of the elevator and walked out into the common area of Tony’s guest floor.  The vastness of the space didn’t go with the rather comfortable way it had been decorated: there were huge leather couches and chairs, homey potted plants like tulips and petunias, framed photos on a few of the surfaces...and Bruce Banner reading a book, lying barefoot on the couch nearest him.

“Dr. Banner,” Steve said, and the scientist glanced up comfortably before standing. “Stark convinced you to stay, too, huh?”

“He’s a good salesman,” Bruce said, shaking Steve’s hand.  Their lack of familiarity meant that their rapport could be rather stilted at times, but right now was comfortable.  No mission, no S.H.I.E.L.D. briefing to attend, no blues tights on Steve, no ripped pants on Bruce.  “That’s it?” Bruce gestured to the tiny gym bag sitting at Steve’s feet.

“I got my own place in Brooklyn, too,” Steve said, “so I don’t need to bring too much. It’s easier just to be here for the next couple weeks since Fury will probably wanna debrief us” -

“ - at least a million times,” they heard, and they both looked up to see Tony Stark walking into the room, eating an apple and wearing nothing but yoga pants.  Bruce lifted an eyebrow, grinning almost imperceptibly at the man before them, who just shrugged.

“Pepper thought I should try it,” Tony said, and he started heading down the hallway leading to the bedrooms.  “Whatever, I’m tired of pulling muscles when I’m in the suit and Pep looks hot in yoga pants, so it’s a win-win for me.”  He waved a hand, not even looking back.  “Come on, Cap, come see your room!”

Tony had been nice enough to give him a corner room, which was larger than his current bedroom in Bensonhurst.  He had windows on two of the walls and there had been some attempt to decorate it with him in mind.  There was a drafting table in one corner, fully stocked with charcoal, pencils, pastels, and paper, anything he needed.

“Wow, thanks,” he said, placing his bag on the wrought-iron framed bed, and Tony just brushed it off as he turned back to the door to leave.

“We eat dinner at seven around here,” Tony said, his voice echoing down the hallway, “and once a week, Bruce cooks – that’s tonight.  And he _will_ go green if you’re late.”

Steve heard the tiniest mumbling of, “Shut up.”

 

*

 

After that first dinner, Steve knew that “a couple of weeks” would turn into a month.  He liked waking up and having people around, whether it was the militaristic moments of brushing his teeth while Clint took his morning piss, too groggy to care, or just smiling as he walked past Natasha on the way to the gym.  He liked having an excuse to fry four eggs instead of two when Bruce would walk in for breakfast.  Tony quite often came down from his penthouse to finish his coffee with whoever was in the kitchen, and it surprised Steve to see that Stark was actually quite social for being such a shameless jerk.  He’d chat up the housekeeping staff incessantly about quantum mechanics, oblivious to their starry-eyed faces and just happy to have an ear to ramble into.  He’d sling an arm around Bruce when leading him down the hall, and Bruce never balked or moved away from the touch.  Stark clearly liked having company. 

Those who had once been soldiers were now just friendly faces, roommates, and occasional co-workers whenever Fury showed his face.  There was the odd debriefing or testing on his shield, which Tony and Bruce were revamping for him, but besides that Steve basically spent his days exercising, drawing, and – to his endless amazement – talking to people.  He could be dragged out into the city sometimes, always by either Bruce or Tony – Tony would take him shopping for flat-front pants and Bruce would make him carry things for him at the international market. 

Steve liked watching Bruce best.  He seemed to exist in a constant state of discomfort, always fidgeting and looking around and shuffling his feet.  It wasn’t amusing to Steve – quite the contrary, but what he really liked was watching those uncomfortable moments pass, seeing Bruce eventually drop his hands to his sides and hook his thumbs into his pocket.  The tension happened less during one-on-one interactions and more in the presence of groups, and Steve was glad that Bruce didn’t behave that way when they were around each other.  Not that they spent a lot of time together or anything, but he sometimes sketched the skyline from the living room while Bruce prepared dinner in the open-air kitchen.  They’d yell across the great expanse, sharing an odd comment or two, and after a couple of weeks Steve moved his workstation from the couch to the bar.  He would draw vegetables or steaming pots of soup, and sometimes he’d draw Bruce leaning over a cutting board or making salad dressing.  Steve wasn’t sure if Bruce knew that he was drawing him, as he seemed comfortably oblivious as he cooked, humming and swaying along to old big band records that JARVIS would play for them.

Steve could also see that Bruce had forged a real friendship with Tony in the end of all of this, and he couldn’t say that he wasn’t impressed by that.  He saw the good in Stark, too, but he couldn’t say that he thought of the guy as tactful.  Tony liked to tease Bruce about the Hulk and Bruce’s responses were always either short or nonexistent, but it didn’t seem to bother the scientist at first.  Tony had a Hulk glove, a big green fist that some toy company had produced without anyone’s permission, and he’d slam it down on the countertop if he overcooked his eggs or if Pepper appeared with papers to sign.  Steve watched Bruce laugh at the Hulk glove at first, then after a few days the laugh was replaced by a wary smile, and then just a grin, and then nothing at all.

“Oh, don’t pout, Bruce,” Tony said as he removed the glove, trying to give the doctor a mousy look.  He’d just punched Steve’s old vibranium shield with it, and the tone it produced had been loud enough to make their teeth vibrate.

“Could you put that away?” Bruce said, never looking at either one of them as he continued to scribble onto a clipboard.  Tony gave a defeated shrug and then picked up the glove, walking toward a room right off of the lab.

Bruce waited until Tony was out of the lab when he looked up at Steve and deadpanned, “Haha.”

“He’s got a thing for your green buddy,” Steve said, shrugging, and Bruce just shook his head.

“Yeah, he’s rather fond of him.  Can’t understand why.”

“Oh, I can.  Stark just likes messes.  Every city is a playground to that guy.”

“Playground,” Bruce repeated.  “I can’t say that I think of what the other guy does as fun.”  His pen stopped.  “I mean it probably _is_ fun for the other guy to a degree, but it’s not for _me_.  Not waking up like _that_.”

Steve opened his mouth to speak but Tony was talking loudly to JARVIS now, rattling off an equation as the program took note of it.  He just shook his head and looked at Bruce, whose amused face had a hint of gloom to it.

“He’s real piece of work sometimes,” Bruce said, and he walked around the table to another computer, pulling up schematics for Steve’s new shield.

 

*****

 

“I knew you’d regret wearing your dress uniform.  It’s burning up out here.”

Steve ignored Tony and fanned the lapels of his jacket.  The sun was beating down on them out on Tony’s patio, where a small group of extremely rich people milled about.  It was some sort of fundraiser for a children’s organization that the Stark Foundation sponsored, and Steve hadn’t been able to refuse when Tony personally asked him to come and meet some of the kids in the program.  Clint and Natasha also milled about in civilian dress, pretending to have less fun than they actually were.  Tony wore a seersucker cotton suit and $2,000 sunglasses while he drank $500 scotch out of a $300 glass.  Bruce stood nearby in clothes that were new and clean, but plain, piping in whenever Tony would direct the conversation to him.  The public didn’t know the identity of the Hulk so Bruce’s secret was safe in this crowd, but still he seemed nervous, uneasy.  He often just tuned himself out of Tony’s conversation altogether, opting instead to just enjoy the view, to watch the planes in the sky, or sometimes smile at a child running by.

“Captain Rogers,” Steve heard, and he saw Agent Maria Hill approach.  She was in civilian dress as well – well, an _actual_ dress – and she held a pale green drink in her hand.

“Agent Hill,” Steve said, turning to face her.  “I didn’t expect to see anyone from…work here.”

He knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. was a covert organization, so it probably was best that he be vague about how they knew each other.

“Stark is trying to win me over,” she said, and beside them Steve saw Tony pout comically before returning to his banter.  “I told him that I didn’t think he gave to any aid organizations and since then he’s invited me to at _least_ five Stark Foundation charity gatherings.”  She shrugged and sipped her drink.  “Finally had to come to one.”

“Well I hope you’re not too bored.”

“Not particularly, no,” she said, and her eyes traveled up and down the front of him.  “Kinda warm for dress blues, isn’t it?”

Steve chuckled.  “Yeah.  I think I’m gonna go take my jacket off, actually.  I’ll be right back.”

Steve went inside and quickly went down the three flights of stairs between Tony’s floor and the guest area.  Steve removed his jacket and hung it carefully, then checked himself in the mirror to make sure his tie was straight.  He neatened his hair a bit – it was windy up there – and then picked up his hat, which he’d leave tucked under his arm. 

He noticed that Bruce’s door was open as he walked out, and he could never stop himself from peeking into the room.  There really wasn’t much to see, but still.  Steve wanted to see the inside of that room.  It was the mystery of Bruce himself that made the room seem like a secret garden, a forbidden place waiting to be found.  He chuckled at himself for such thoughts, but he couldn’t help but be a little fascinated by the scientist.  He was brilliant, selfless, and austere in his lifestyle, which was in direct opposition to the beast that lay beneath his skin, a simpleminded thing bent on anger and destruction.  He almost didn’t believe Bruce when he said that he didn’t enjoy his time as the Hulk – Steve could swear that he saw a smile on the brute’s face whenever he smashed and killed with the unfocused swings of his tv-sized fists. 

Steve finally reached Tony’s floor again and walked through the living room to pick up his shield, and he stopped when he saw Bruce and Tony in the kitchen.  There was a little girl sitting on the countertop, her big toe dotted with a small amount of blood.  She was smiling though there were tears on her cheeks, and Tony juggled avocados as Bruce used sterile gauze to carefully dry the girl’s face.  Bruce didn’t say much as he cleaned the wound while Tony chattered away, and Steve went over to the fireplace to pick up his shield.  He knew the kids would want to see it so he’d brought it down earlier. 

He headed back outside now, his steps slow as he continued to spy on the scene in the kitchen.  Why was he so fascinated by this?  Bruce wrapped the toe carefully, and now the little girl was staring with wide eyes as Tony used a penlight to project a little Iron Man hologram into the air.  She swiped her hands through it as it swooped all around, blasting imaginary foes.

“All done,” Bruce said, and he picked the girl up and placed her on his hip as he and Tony walked back onto the porch.  Steve was already out there, talking to Maria again as he watched Bruce carefully put the girl on the ground.  A woman nearby turned and seemed to thank Bruce, then leaned down and spoke to the girl, who in return reached up and shook Bruce’s hand.  Bruce kneeled down to talk more with the little girl, and it was clear to Steve that this woman didn’t know who Bruce really was.

“Steve.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said immediately, turning back to Maria, who just shook her head and took a sip of her drink.  “I’m sorry.”

“No, its fine,” she said, “but let me know if you’re serious about that drink, okay?”

Steve almost allowed his brow to wrinkle but then he caught himself and smiled confidently.  What drink? 

“I will,” he said.  Maria walked away then, and when he looked back at Bruce he was sitting on the ground with the little girl now, shoes off, pointing out and giving her the Latin name for each bone in the human foot.

 

 

 

Steve sat at his drafting table sketching the view out of his window.  It was a new angle of New York that he’d never been able to see for that long.  Up so high, so removed from everything.  He had to keep his pencils sharp if he wanted to get the details right.

He heard his phone ring and picked it up, the display flashing ‘Tony Stark.’ He stared at it for a moment before remembering to press the green button.

“Tony, hi.”

“Ah, didn’t hang up on me this time.  Green not red, right?”

“What do you want?”

“Do you like opera?”

“ _What_?”

“I got you two tickets to _I Pagliacci_.  Mayor’s box, total panty peeler.  Best seats in town.”

“What – why?”

“You’re taking Maria Hill to the opera on Friday, okay?  She wouldn’t shut up about you today.”

Steve felt all the blood drain from his face.  Maria Hill was basically a model with weapons training.  Ridiculously beautiful and equally as dangerous, she definitely fit the bill for him, but there was no way he could go out with a girl like her.  He wasn’t even sure if he’d ever thought of her that way.  “Stark.  Why in the world would you” –

“Look, just be an hour late, talk through the entire first act, fart a lot, spill a drink on her, tell her she looks weird in a dress…there’s a million ways you can bomb this date and never go out with her again.  But first just give it a shot.  Live a little.”

“But why would you even…” Steve trailed off, dropping is head in his empty hand.  “…do this.”

Tony huffed on the other end of the line.  “Please don’t make me tell you all about how lonely you are.”

Steve didn’t have a response to that – because it was true, and also he couldn’t deny that he was a little touched by Tony’s concern.

“Does _she_ know we have a date in four days?” Steve finally asked.

“Yes,” Tony said cheerfully.  “I sent her an email from your account that you never use.”

“Son of a…” Steve stopped himself.  He didn’t like to curse.

“Steve, come on.  _Have you seen_ Agent Hill?  Those legs just keep on goin.’”

Steve hung up the phone.


	2. Close One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Focus. Breathe. Eyes on him. Bruce heard him – actually heard him, and the elevator dinged as Bruce shut his eyes tightly, trying his best to take even breaths. He felt Steve’s forehead against his now, smelled his breath laced with agave liquor. The pulsing in Bruce’s muscles stopped._
> 
> * * *

Steve and Maria went to the opera together.  He was on time to pick her up, opened doors and pulled out her seat, and he even brought her a red-tipped yellow rose (he thought red might be too forward).  _I Pagliacci_ turned out to be the saddest damned opera in the world, and even though he didn’t understand Italian he couldn’t help but be depressed by the scene upon the stage.  “Vesti La Giubba” made Maria’s eyes mist up, and Steve swore he’d strangle Tony for sending them to such a bummer of a show. 

The show ended and Steve couldn’t think of anything but going home, and he apologized to Maria during the entire ride back to her hotel.  She’d mentioned a bar she wanted to check out after the play, but Steve just didn’t have it in him. 

He didn’t kiss her when they said goodnight in front of the lobby elevators.  He didn’t even think about it.

It was only ten o’clock when he got back to Stark Tower.  He walked in to find Bruce, Tony, and Clint all walking towards the elevator.

“Right on time,” Tony said, smiling wide.  “We’re heading out for a night cap.  Care to join?”

“How was your date?” Clint spoke up, a small grin on his face, and Tony’s eyes were suddenly the size of golf balls.

“Oh _shit_ , that’s right!” he said, and he slung an arm around Steve and continued to walk, leading him back towards the elevator.  “Come on, I’ll buy you a Shirley Temple and you can tell us _all_ about it.”

 

 

Steve couldn’t get drunk.  He’d only been drunk maybe twice in his life before the army juiced him up.  Tony knew this but still insisted on making him do shots of booze for the fun of it.

Steve wiped the remnants of Mezcal off his lips and smiled through the wince that was taking over his face.  Tony grinned from around his single malt and Clint laughed out loud as he sat his fourth empty beer on the table a little too heavily. 

“You know he can’t get drunk,” Bruce said.  “Watching him hate alcohol is gonna get old eventually.” Bruce was drinking, though he typically declined any offers of a libation.  Maybe he wanted some company tonight.  Bruce took the orange slice out of his Old Fashioned and ate it without a grimace.  He was on his second one.

“Getting ‘old’ is not something that things do,” Tony said, his eyes on Steve.  “Especially for this guy.”

“Yeah well that opera got old pretty quickly,” Steve said, and he kept talking on top of Tony’s protestations.  “Seriously – a clown whose wife hates him and then some lady lashes him with a bullwhip and then he sings the saddest song of all time.”

“It’s a classic.”

“Well, I kind of remember you describing it as ‘panty peeler,’ and it most certainly wasn’t.”

Tony and Clint fell into a chorus of empathetic yowls.  “No, no, oh no!” Tony cried, and he waved his drink in the air for effect.  “I can’t believe it – I cockblocked Captain America.”

This actually made Bruce laugh out loud, and he’d been remarkably quiet until then.  Steve knew that the crowd was bothering him – this was a high-end rooftop bar with nothing but perfect 10s patronizing the place, both male and female.  And it was also a Friday night, which meant that it was crowded.  Too many unknown variables. 

“You _didn’t_ , actually,” Steve said, and he tried to protest as the waitress sat another round of shots on the table.  “I think that using opera to get a woman in bed is more _your_ style than mine.”

“Well _excuse me_ for coming up with a great date idea,” Tony said as he handed the waitress his empty glass.  “The most expensive show in town, the priciest seats available – how did you _not_ get laid?”

“Maria Hill is not a prostitute,” Steve said, and there was a slight edge to his tone that let Tony know to back off a bit.  “And anyway, that’s not my style.”

“What _is_ your style?” Clint asked, but it wasn’t a real question.  “Picnics in the park? Dinner and dancing?”

Steve was at a loss because he didn’t have a real dating “style” at all, but wham-bam-thank you ma’am certainly didn’t come close to what he thought of as a nice night.  So he just shook his head and chuckled.

“Whatever my style is,” Steve said finally, “Stark would definitely disapprove.”

Tony was picking up his newly poured McCallan 21 when he responded, “I most certainly would.”

The table laughed while Bruce stood and mumbled about the bathroom, and right as he stood they heard a slight splash and curses that were not muffled in the slightest. 

“Sorry” –

“Hey man, what the fuck?”

Bruce had stood too quickly and ran right into someone walking by, and now there was a young slick-haired douchebag in a $3,000 pinstriped suit wearing his vodka rocks as an accessory.

Steve, Tony, and Clint all stood at the same time, ready to intervene.  Bruce could take care of himself, yes, but they knew what could happen if this got even slightly out of hand.

“Hey, hey,” Tony began as he leaned in, “relax.  It’s just vodka, doesn’t stain” –

“It’s not about that,” douchebag answered.  “Your friend here is a fucking rude-ass.”

“Oh you have _no_ idea how rude he can be,” Clint said, and he wanted to laugh at the snotty little nod that douchebag gave.

“You’re what – 40 long?” Tony said.  “And that’s last spring’s Valentino…let’s go to my car. I got ya covered.”

Steve was rather impressed by Tony’s generosity considering how unbelievably uptight this moron was, and he should have known that douchebag wouldn’t be nearly as impressed.

“Keep your fucking suit, Iron Man,” douchebag almost hissed, and Bruce stopped wringing his hands.  “Yeah, I know who you are.  And let me guess – the 40 year old virgin over here must be Captain America.”

“He’s actually closer to ninety” –

“You destroyed the historic building that my family has lived in for fifty years,” douchebag said.  “And _you’re_ the one that did it, not those lizard people.  I saw you – blasting out chunks of hundred-year old masonry while that big green fuck smashed lizard dudes right through my mom’s kitchen.”

“Look, I’m sorry about your suit,” Bruce finally spoke up, his voice the softest and calmest of them all.  “Your house, everything.  I can get you another drink” –

“I don’t let dudes buy me drinks, faggot.”

And that was enough for Steve.  “Wait a minute” –

“See,” Clint said, and his voice was lower than usual, “ _now_ you’re just being rude.”

“Fuckin’ right I am,” douchebag said back, and then he looked to Bruce again. This was all Bruce needed to know that he should start making his way towards the door, and when he turned to pick up his jacket his hip just barely brushed the douchebag in the ruined suit. 

Suddenly the douchebag leapt forward, yelling something about queers and taking it outside you fucking assholes, and now everyone was tussling and wrestling as they pulled the douchebag away.  He never got a hand on Bruce, who ducked as soon as he realized he’d touched the guy, but the scuffle rattled the table and sent beer bottles and high ball glasses tumbling off of its surface.  Clint had the guy in a shoulder lock as he pulled him away, using only one arm to drag him over to the security kiosk, where giant men watched and waited.  Tony was known at this bar, and perhaps this wasn’t the first time someone had taken issue with his presence there.  Security wasn’t surprised.  All of this seemed par-for-the-course for them.

There was more par-for-the-course stuff going down, but only Steve seemed to notice.  Clint was calmly hashing things out with the security team while Tony shouted from the table, gloating about his genius while he attempted to pull his jacket on.  Steve looked between the two of them until he caught the sight of Bruce out of the corner of his eye.  He was by the elevator with one hand pressed against the wall as he pushed the button repeatedly, and Steve swore he could see the muscles in his back bulging viciously.  Steve started to walk over to him but broke out in a gentle trot as he noticed that the dry wall was flaking away every time Brushed pushed the button, he was mashing the damned thing so hard.

The elevator doors opened and Steve didn’t even think as he grabbed Bruce gently by the arm and pulled him inside.  He and Clint’s eyes met and the archer just nodded, fully understanding what was going on once he got a good gander at Bruce.  They needed to get away from all these people before things got hectic.

Bruce leaned back against the elevator wall and breathed slowly, though it clearly wasn’t helping.  He was breathing hard with green eyes and taut muscles, and Steve could see the seams of his shirt straining a bit.  _Uh oh_.  

Instead of hitting the emergency stop and running away like he probably should have, Steve walked right up to Bruce and took him by the back of his neck, leaning forward and bracing them against them wall.  

“Look at me,” Steve said.  “Eyes on me, okay?”  

“Get out of here,” Bruce ground out from behind his teeth, and he gripped Steve’s forearms savagely, trying to pull himself free but to no avail.  

“Bruce.”  This was the first time Steve ever used his name, and Bruce’s eyes snapped to the soldier’s, mouth still snarling.  “Focus.  Breathe.  You’re alright, Bruce.”  

Focus.  Breathe.  Eyes on him.  Bruce heard him – actually _heard_ him, and the elevator dinged as Bruce shut his eyes tightly, trying his best to take even breaths.  He felt Steve’s forehead against his now, smelled his breath laced with agave liquor.  The pulsing in Bruce’s muscles stopped.  

“We’re going home right now,” Steve said.  “You’re gonna be alright.  You can control it, you have before.  Alright?”  

Bruce was able to focus through the green haze and he heard Steve’s voice, heard the word “home,” and soon he just nodded, letting out a long breath and loosening his grip on Steve’s forearms.  The door was open to the lobby now, and outside they could hear the faint horn of Tony’s Mercedes SUV.  The valets had already brought it out, and sure enough Steve could hear Tony rambling as the elevator beside them opened up and he and Clint emerged.  It was still quiet in their elevator as green faded from Bruce’s eyes and he rested his head back against the cool metal.  He and Steve stared at each other for a long moment, just breathing and centering themselves and taking time to be sure of the Big Guy’s departure.  

“Thanks,” Bruce said.

 

 

“Close one,” Tony remarked quietly as he drove them home, all of them silent up until then.  Steve looked sharply at the back of Tony’s head, then his eyes flicked up to the rear view mirror.  Tony was wearing sunglasses, and it was midnight.

“Knock it off, Stark,” Steve said, his jaw tight.  “I think he’s had enough for tonight.” He looked away in disgust.  “And take those off.”

Beside him Bruce looked up, eyes blinking as he spied the look on Steve’s face – he nearly snarled as he glanced at the rear view mirror repeatedly, eyes narrow and the muscles in his jaw rippling.  

Tony looked into the rear view mirror for a quick moment, then yanked his shades off of his head with a flick of his wrist.  “What?” He looked to Clint, who was riding shotgun.  Clint just stayed silent, looking out of the window and pinching lightly at his chin – a nervous habit.  Clearly the fight rattled him as well, but he wouldn’t let it show any more than that.

“I was talking about that asshole at the bar,” Tony continued.  “We were like half a second away from that shit gettin’ _really real_.” He looked into the mirror again, this time letting his gaze fall on Bruce.  Their eyes met for a split second before Bruce looked away, out of his own window.  “Oh wait, Big Green showed up?  Shit, I missed it didn’t I?” Tony tsked, taking a right onto the boulevard that led up to his private entrance.

“You barely missed anything,” Steve said. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Hey – no – sorry, I just…” Tony sighed, and it seemed as though he’d realized that he might be behaving a little inappropriately.  “What do you mean ‘I barely missed anything’?  How’d you keep him from coming out?”  He stared at Bruce in the rear view now as he drove onto the freight elevator that would take them ten floors up to the garage.  “I mean I thought once it started, it kinda didn’t stop.”

Bruce thought back.  He never remembered much once the other guy came around.  The first bulge of his muscles knocked his mind out cold, but sometimes flashes survived.  People running, cars thrown into the air, roofs caving in, blood on big green hands.  But tonight he remembered a confident voice with a Brooklyn accent saying his name, a strong hand on the back of his neck, the words, “Eyes on me.”  Blue eyes calling the tower “home.”

“Steve talked him down,” Bruce said quietly, and he still faced the window though they were in the elevator now.  “The alcohol probably helped, too.”  The doors chimed and slid open, but the car didn’t move immediately.  After a second, he gave a slight hum of approval and drove the car out, moving to park amongst his fleet of 30-something vehicles.

“Talked him down,” Tony mumbled, albeit loud enough for both Bruce and Steve to hear.  “We all saw what happened when Natasha tried that.  Didn’t even think that was possible.”

The car screeched to a halt between a Fisker and a Bugatti, and Bruce was the first to open his door.

 

 

Steve followed Tony back to his penthouse, chastising him all the while.

“Why do you have to give Dr. Banner such a hard time?”

Tony looked up at Steve sharply, resentful almost.

“I’m _not_ giving him a hard time,” Tony said, and they entered his living room to find Pepper asleep on the couch, shoes off and the main menu of the _Nine to Five_ blu-ray disc repeating itself over and over again.  Tony’s voice dropped to a whisper.  “I’m his friend, he knows I’m just pokin’ at him” –

“He doesn’t need to be poked,” Steve said, and his voice was quiet but firm.  “I think that’s the last thing he needs, especially after getting bullied around by some idiot at a crappy bar.”

Steve’s voice got a little bit louder than he meant it to and Pepper stirred, but Tony didn’t get upset right away.  He saw the way Steve’s feet shuffled a bit and his eyes went vacant, blinking and refocusing before he looked back at Tony, who was trying not to grin.

“Alright, you can pipe down now,” Tony said, and Steve balked a bit when Tony laid a hand on his shoulder, “Okay, I’ll lay off of the guy, I promise.  You’re right – it’s not funny.”  Steve nodded, but Tony was too busy looking at Pepper, who was waking and stretching with a small smile on her face.  “Get out, Cap.  Tell Hill I said hi.”

 

Steve went to his room, but he couldn’t sleep.  He lay in his bed thinking of that horrible douchebag at the bar – some jackass who probably worked for his father’s firm and never earned anything in his life.  Picking on strangers, like a big bully.  Steve cursed the vision that flashed in his mind – the Hulk smashing douchebag into jelly.

Steve exited his room and headed for the kitchen.  He was a little hungry, and a snack would probably get his mind off of those guys.  When he rounded the corner he saw that the door to Bruce’s room was open and that no one was inside.  He thought better of it… _no no, don’t bother_ …even as he walked up the five flights of stairs to Bruce’s private lab.  Steve opened the door but Bruce didn’t look up – the doctor was working fervently, vials of his own blood in centrifuges spinning about, holographic screens everywhere and displaying mumbo jumbo that Steve would never understand.  The beast had reared his head tonight, and it seemed to energize Dr. Banner’s desperate attempts to tame him, to calm him, to eventually put him to sleep.

Steve was sure to let the door bounce lightly on the stopper, wanting to make _some_ noise so he didn’t startle Bruce.  Still, the doctor’s shoulders jumped and he looked up quickly, calming immediately once he saw who it was.

“Dr. Banner,” Steve said with way more enthusiasm than one would expect at two in the morning. “Burnin’ the midnight oil, huh.  What are you workin’ on?”

Bruce grinned a bit because he knew that Steve probably wouldn’t understand if he told him exactly what he was doing.  So he just said, “Well, I’m separating the red blood cells from the plasma in these draws so I can run tests on both.”

That was simple enough for Steve, and he nodded. “Sounds a little mundane.  No offense.”

“Ah, no, it’s alright,” Bruce replied.  “None taken.  And you’re right – it _can_ be.  I mean I could save this little task for the morning, but…” He trailed off then, his eyes going vacant just inches away from the holographic screen.  “Just don’t feel like sleeping, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and he took a seat on the stool beside Bruce’s.  “That scene at the bar bother you, too?”

“You could say that.”

Steve blinked at his own insensitivity and the way he put it as if nothing major had happened.  “Well, nice suit or not, that guy had no class.  And I’m sorry he rounded on you.”

“I came pretty close to making _him_ sorry, too,” Bruce said, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he pressed a button and watched the separated red blood cells drain into fresh test tubes.  “But you talked him down.  Thanks.”

Steve just nodded as if it was no big deal, just doing his duty.  “Ah, you know.  I just…help where I can.”

“It’s the worst feeling,” Bruce said.  “I don’t know what dying feels like, but that must be it…when I feel myself disappear behind the other guy.” Bruce gave a sigh as he put the tubes in a stand, one by one.  “And then you wake up to…a mess.  I don’t know why Tony would wanna see that.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Steve replied.  “He likes to see things get messy.  Must be real bored for someone with so much money.”

Bruce grinned and sat the tray of test tubes inside of a glass cabinet, which seemed to be some sort of a machine, but Steve couldn’t tell.  Suddenly the cylinders became bathed with pale blue light, a light so bright that they both had to look away.

“You know you’re the only person that the other guy has listened to in years,” Bruce said, and Steve risked the glare to look at Bruce again.  “Maybe a decade.”  Their eyes met but Steve could see the doctor wringing his hands lightly, and he bit at his bottom lip.

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Twice now.”

“Hm.”

Steve didn’t really know what to say to that, so he turned away from the light again.  The light suddenly faded away and now Steve _had_ to look at Bruce, lest he seem rude.  Bruce was taking the tubes out, and the light had turned the blood black.

“Should I feel special?” Steve asked, and Bruce laughed lightly as he started removing each test tube and putting them back in the centrifuge.

“Yes.”

Steve stayed in the lab as Bruce continued to work for few minutes, and finally his stomach couldn’t take anymore.  “Originally I got up for a snack, but now I’m actually hungry,” he said.  “Wanna join me?”

“Nah, I’m wrapping up here in a bit, and then I need to go to bed,” Bruce said as he scribbled something onto a clipboard.  “But thanks.  For the company.  Talking, whatever.”

“Never a problem,” Steve said, always ready with a smile.  “See ya tomorrow, Dr. Banner.”

Steve turned to leave, but stopped when Bruce spoke.  “Hey…you called me Bruce earlier tonight.  I kinda prefer that.”

“Got it.  Goodnight, Bruce.”

“’Night, Steve.”

 

On his walk back to the kitchen, Steve remembered saying Bruce’s name…the man in front of him had been digging his fingers brutally into Steve’s forearms, eyes green and face throbbing with hate.  Bruce had been halfway to going full-on green when Steve said his name, and at the sound their eyes snapped together, and then Steve remembered something that hadn’t stood out to him in that moment: Bruce’s eyes flashing back to their gentle brown for just a second.

Steve realized that Bruce remembered because he hadn’t been the Hulk in those moments.  Bruce had heard his name above all the green noise and peeked out for a second, like a fish shooting up out of a vast, angry ocean, and out into the calm air of day before splashing back down into roiling black waters.


	3. Crescendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Come on now,” Steve said, and he nudged Bruce lightly. “You can’t tell me to call you Bruce and then start in with that ‘Captain’ stuff, can you?” The way Steve leaned towards him, arms crossed but his face smiling and their sides touching…Bruce suddenly felt ugly in such a presence. He leaned back down to their dinner, giving it an unneeded stir._
> 
> _“I guess not,” he said, his face burning._
> 
> * * *

Tony had made their weekly dinners sound forced and boring, and time had shown Steve that Tony was most certainly stretching the truth.  None of them had any objections to it but certain people enjoyed pretending to be too cool: Tony would sit back in his chair, expression blank, sipping his scotch and complaining until the soup was served, at which time he’d pick up his spoon and dive in, complimenting the chef all the while.  Natasha was another one who liked to play it cool by sitting back quietly and mumbling with Clint, who kept his voice low but his conversation generous.  He spoke to everyone, but in a reserved manner that belied how much he was actually enjoying himself.  Thor, who had attended many a meal before returning to Asgard, wasn’t shy at all in his love of food and drink, and he ate meat and guzzled beer with an abandon that none of them had ever seen.  

Steve, however, was the closest thing to a _gentleman_ that there could ever be, and he sat up straight and put his napkin across his lap and kept his elbows off the table and thanked Bruce when each course was sat down in front of them.

Tonight it would be Ethiopian food.  “I learned how to make a few dishes when I lived there in 2006,” Bruce told Steve as he cut lean beef into cubes.  “It’s pretty simple stuff, really tasty.”  Steve was cutting up tomatoes and jalapenos beside him, and he just smirked.  “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will,” Steve said.  “Beef, tomatoes, jalapenos, clarified butter…sounds tasty indeed.”

Bruce chuckled a bit.  “It’ll make sense once we cook it up.  The toughest part is making the bread, so I just got some from an international grocery store.  It’s great, I promise.”  Bruce opened the oven to check a vegetable dish that was baking, then shut the door and stood to turn on the stovetop. “Thanks for helping me cook, too.  You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but it almost seems unfair sometimes,” Steve said, and he put his work off to the side. “You cook us these amazing meals from god-knows-where, all by yourself.  There we are, just sittin’ and stuffin’ our faces.”  Bruce was browning the meat now with the clarified butter, and he picked up Steve’s cutting board and brushed the vegetables into the pan as well.  “I’m glad to help.  It’s the least I could do – hell, _any_ of us.”

“Well I’m glad it’s you,” Bruce replied, and they both froze for a second before turning their attention back to the food.  “I mean can you imagine Tony trying to cook?  Or _Natasha_?” Steve laughed out loud, and that relieved Bruce a bit.  “You seem like you’ve probably got a little bit of talent that way anyway.”

“I enjoyed cooking a bit when I was a younger man,” he replied, and he looked at Bruce as if to give him permission to laugh.  He did, letting the spatula rest in the air for a moment as he placed a hand on his stomach and gave an honest chuckle.

“You know you could always invite Agent Hill to dinner one of these days,” Bruce suggested.  “I’m sure no one would mind.”

Steve’s smile seemed to calm just slightly, the tiniest bit, as though he was put off by the sudden mention of the woman he’d been on three dates with.  “Yeah,” he said, perhaps trying a bit too hard to sound amicable.  “I could do that.”

Bruce nodded and tried to ignore the sudden awkwardness.  “So, you know Tony came and apologized to me – well, in his own way, I suppose.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow.  “Really.  For what?”

“Always ribbing me about the Hulk.  He said you weren’t very happy with him the other night.”

Steve felt a blush rise up his neck but he tried to appear aloof, just picking up his beer and taking a swig of it.  “I wasn’t,” he said.  “I mean he claimed that he was just pokin’ at you but I told him you didn’t need to be poked.  It’s not safe, and it’s also just not nice.  To you.”

“Yeah, well, every now and then people try to poke at me, but I have a pretty good feel for Tony and I think he knows how far he can go.  I appreciate your concern though, Captain.”

“Come on now,” Steve said, and he nudged Bruce lightly. “You can’t tell me to call you Bruce and then start in with that ‘Captain’ stuff, can you?” The way Steve leaned towards him, arms crossed but his face smiling and their sides touching…Bruce suddenly felt ugly in such a presence.  He leaned back down to their dinner, giving it an unneeded stir.

“I guess not,” he said, his face burning.

 

*

 

Steve couldn’t quite believe it when Tony pointed out to him that he’d slept at Stark Tower for 22 days straight.  He’d never admit this to Tony, but he didn’t even miss his apartment in Brooklyn.  Barely thought about it anymore.

During that first month he’d go back for a night or two, work out at his gym, enjoy the quiet and the absence of cameras, but eventually he’d get tired of takeout and long for something home-cooked, and he’d be back at the Tower by dinnertime on the third day. 

Maria often asked him about his apartment and even about the Tower, saying, “Up until that party, I’d only ever seen the lobby of that place.”  She was always asking him about the residential areas, his bedroom. He couldn’t say that he cared for her forwardness, but he thought he might come around soon.  They’d been dating for three weeks and still hadn’t slept together, but he didn’t think that was anything odd.  He could sense her eagerness but he just wasn’t that type, and if he was honest with himself about it he’d have to admit that the idea didn’t quite titillate him just yet. 

 

 

He decided to go visit in order to do a little dusting and sweeping, and he returned to Stark Tower for dinner – brown stew chicken and oxtail, ordered from a Jamaican restaurant in Harlem.  Steve arrived to get his portion to find Bruce there plating up oxtail with rice and peas.

“How’s your place?” he asked.

“Dusty.  I gotta start going over there more often.” Steve took a big bite of coco bread.  He couldn’t believe that there were Jamaican people in New York and that their food was as amazing as this.

“There are no cameras there, at least,” Bruce said as he finished plating his food.  “I gotta go back to the lab.  This experiment is gonna kill me, I swear.” 

He waved with his empty hand and turned to leave, then stopped when he heard, “I’ll join you then.”

 

They sat on a couch towards the back of the lab and ate their dinners.  Steve thought about coming up and drawing the lab some time.  He wondered if Bruce would mind.

“It must be nice to have your own space,” Bruce said around a mouth full of plantains. 

“Yeah, the privacy’s nice,” Steve replied, “but it gets boring for sure.  I have to admit – staying here is more fun.”

“I won’t tell Tony you said that,” Bruce said, and Steve laughed amicably.  “Hey, you could always have Maria over at your apartment. That way you won’t have JARVIS watching your every move.”

“Yeah, well, she definitely wants to see it,” Steve said, and they both sat their plates down on the floor.  Bruce stood and walked to a computer console and Steve followed, unsure of what else to do.  “She’s always droppin’ little hints.  ‘Oh, I haven’t been to Brooklyn in years.’”  Bruce chuckled as he brought up a slide on the holographic screen.

 “Agent Hill _is_ quite lovely, though,” he said.  “Don’t know why she’s not in your bed right now.”

“Yeah well...I mean, I’m attracted to her, but...these things take time.  I don’t just...I can’t...ya know.”

“I understand, all too well.”

Silence.  Steve knew that his little problem was probably nothing compared to the fears that kept Bruce from being intimate.

“When was the last time?” Steve asked, and though Bruce didn’t look up, Steve knew from the blush creeping up his friend’s neck that perhaps the question was too forward.  “I’m sorry, that’s not my business.”

“Probably a decade,” Bruce responded quietly, leaning over to calibrate his microscope.  “Betty and I managed it twice, but I always got the idea that she was afraid of what might happen.  I mean she _swore_ she wasn’t, but I could see it in her eyes.  I always could.  Imagine realizing that your girlfriend is terrified of you.” Bruce looked up at the close-up of the slide on the holographic screen before him, but he wasn’t really _seeing_ it.  “Since her, there hasn’t been anyone - well, not really.  I think it’s too scary for anyone that knows the truth about me.”

“Well has he ever come out when you’re with someone?”

“No, but Betty found it to be too similar.  She always thought the other guy was around the corner.  But I mean she was really scared of him.  Scared of any little peek of him.  She could have never handled that scene in the elevator.”

“Is it _really_ that bad?”

“Well _I_ don’t think so, but I definitely wasn’t that way before the accident.  Now when I’m having sex, I just kinda get lost.  I forget.  I just move, I just....do.  It’s one thing to lose control as the other guy, but when it’s me...I understand why it scared Betty.  I don’t think she could tell the difference.”

Steve chuckled quietly, though it wasn’t really a joke.  Still, he would take anything that would distract him from the heat rising up his collar.  Sexual conversations made him anxious and lusty in general and he was already kicking himself for not inviting Maria up after their last date, but _this_ conversation was just...picturing Bruce snarling and sweating, bearing down on a body beneath him and fucking without mercy, looking like the Hulk but not _being_ the Hulk.  Steve was shocked by how silent the thought made him, how he couldn’t think of anything else to say to Bruce suddenly.  They stood close and when Steve looked up all he could really see was that gentle and too-old-looking face, chewing his lip as he looked down and sorted a handful of jump drives he’d produced from his pocket.  Their eyes met for a moment and Bruce looked down again, but a moment was all Steve needed to read that quick glance, the suggestion in it, the temptation that neither of them would be able to ignore if only one of them would finally speak up and acknowledge it.

“Since then I haven’t really wanted to get involved with anyone,” Bruce said finally, and he jammed one of the jump drives into the ridiculously sleek CPU of his computer.  “The other guy scares people away.”

“You shouldn’t deny yourself,” Steve said. “You’re not a monster, Bruce.”

Bruce didn’t respond and just continued to drag-and-drop items onto the portable memory device.  

“You’re a good guy, a nice guy,” Steve continued when the doctor didn’t respond.  Bruce hadn’t been fishing for validation, but he wouldn’t stop Steve from giving it to him.  “I couldn’t even imagine you _trying_ to hurt someone, especially someone you cared about.  I bet you show a lot of care to your girlfriends - or your partners, whoever, when you’re in bed.  Even if you do get...rather passionate.”

Bruce caught the “partners” comment but didn’t say anything, though he couldn’t resist the grin that pulled at his lips.  “Passionate,” he repeated.  “So _that’s_ what they called it in the forties.”  Steve laughed, _thank god_.  “How about you, Cap?  Been breakin’ any ladies in half lately?”

Steve’s laugh this time was loud and incredulous, so loud that the lab assistant bots actually perked up, expecting to rush to the rescue of some accident.  He never knew that Bruce had it in him to make a dirty joke, but he liked that he did.  Steve liked pleasant surprises.

“That’s one way to put it,” Steve chuckled as his laughter died down.  “I’ve...had my fun since I woke up, yes.  Got a few things out of the way, so to speak.  But as far as me and Maria?  We’ve only kissed.”

“At least you know she won’t run away screaming when you get her in bed.  The serum doesn’t affect you the way it affects me – in almost _any_ respect” –

“Almost is right,” Steve said, drawing Bruce’s eyes to his.  “I can think of at least _one_ respect.”  The look lingered, almost as if neither dared to break it.  “I’m not exactly a gentleman in bed, either.”

Bruce chewed at his lip and let his eyes drop for a split second...down to Steve’s crotch, or maybe his lips...possibly even his chest, but he wasn’t sure.  Neither were.  “Hm,” was the noncommittal response Bruce gave, and he went back to loading up the jump drive.  Steve took this opportunity to take his leave, and once he’d left, so did Bruce.  They both went back to their rooms to do the exact same thing.

Afterwards, winded and heart pounding and shirt a mess, Steve took off the ruined Oxford button-down and wiped his hands clean with it, then threw it in the trash out of nothing but shame.  His cock was still hard when he finally got up and washed his hands, unable to look at himself in the mirror because he knew that what he’d just done wouldn’t be enough.

 

*

 

But it would _have to be_ , at least for now.  Steve had always thought he had remarkable poise and self-control, completely authoritative and asexual in his day-to-day interactions with people.  His “date” with Bruce had thrown him off of his well-crafted veneer of the perfect soldier because now he was beating off at least once a day, whereas in the past he wouldn’t have felt compelled to “such behavior” any more than once a month.  He wanted to do it twice a day but he at least had the self-control to wait until night time, either in the shower or right before bed.  He walked around tense all day and he hoped it didn’t show – well, Bruce seemed none the wiser as they went on like they always had, but still.  It felt like somehow they’d upped the ante a bit. 

Meals were starting to look like private dinners that the rest of the team just happened to walk in on - Steve would casually mention his mother’s corned beef and hash and he’d come to dinner to find piles of it waiting on them.  He’d pile his plate high and chat Bruce up about Sunday dinners that had bored him as a child but that he now missed with all of his being.  Bruce would ask about Maria and they’d tiptoe around the bits they didn’t want others to hear, but it was obvious what they were talking about.  He’d help the chef clean and chat over a digestif or beer afterwards, then lock his bedroom door and beat off as if Bruce himself had commanded him to do it.

He saw himself splayed out flat under Bruce, ass in the air, Bruce straddling his hips and fucking him with a sneer on his face and a growl in his voice.  He saw them face-to-face, his lips pressed into the crook of Bruce’s neck while he came inside of him.  On his knees sucking the doctor’s cock in front of the oblivious and mechanized lab staff.  Bruce’s finger in his ass while he jerked off for him, the doctor’s face pressed hard against his while he mumbled disgusting things (where’d _that one_ come from?).  

And then he’d come – and come and come, each time harder and stronger, it seemed – before cleaning himself up without looking at the mess he’d made.  The shame didn’t come from why he was beating off or even _who_ he thought of when doing it, but from the fact that he knew it would not be enough and that he would wake up tomorrow morning in the same state, both dreading and looking forward to breakfast all at the same time.

He was still dating Maria.  They made out the other night and he grabbed her breast so hard that she winced and gave a little squeak, but her smile was sincere as she shrunk out of his grip, slipping an arm between them.

“Easy there,” she whispered against his lips as she placed his hand back on her breast.  “Gently,” she said, and they continued.


	4. Slow, Quick Quick, Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The song ended and Steve went to move away, but Bruce didn’t let go as the next song began._
> 
> _“Oh, Sondheim - this is a good one,” Bruce said, his tone casual as always but his eyes lit up in a way that let Steve know he wasn’t the only one having fun. “I can actually teach you a real dance to this one. Foxtrot. Here we go.”_
> 
> * * *

Steve knew he wasn’t being that great of a boyfriend.  Then again, he wasn’t sure that Maria was his girlfriend officially - well, they went out at least once a week with occasional meet-ups for shopping or going for a run or just having coffee whenever Maria was in the city.  They had only made out so far, and only twice, and the last time he’d nearly twisted her tit off.  She seemed to be holding on to her patience but he still felt bad, not to mention that their dates were starting to feel almost scripted.  Once a week, every week, they did the exact same thing.  He had to come up with a better idea than five-star dinner and whatever opera Tony would describe as “panty peeler” that week.  He wanted to do something classic and, more importantly, _classy_.  He decided to ask Bruce about it, even though the man hadn’t been on a real date in over a decade, most likely.

And he couldn’t pretend like he hadn’t been waiting for the perfect moment to bring Bruce a meal, for a change.

“Well dinner’s a classic so you’re already good there,” Bruce said as he picked up the banh mi sandwich Steve had just brought him and sat it somewhere other than on top of the roll-out computer consoles Tony now had them using.  Steve smiled apologetically and moved his own sandwich, though it wasn’t sitting on anything but the tabletop. Bruce continued, “There’s always dancing,” and he picked up his sandwich and took a big bite.

Steve snorted and shook his head, saying, “You seen the way these kids dance nowadays?”  He picked a jalapeno out of his own sandwich, dropping it on his plate.

“Well you don’t have to take her to Tunnel or anything like that...you can go to a real dance club.  There’s still places like the ones back in your day.  Big bands, jazz, Latin, all that stuff.”

That was a good idea.  A great idea.  Going dancing was a fail-safe for his best friend Bucky, who never seemed to have a problem finding something fun to do with a date.  Steve stayed quiet, though.  He’d never danced a day in his life.

Bruce couldn’t read Steve’s expression, so he offered more.  “Well, there’s always quieter stuff - you can go for a walk after dinner, take her to the park.  Central Park carriage rides are like a standard for guys in Manhattan, you know.”

Alone with Maria in a horse-drawn carriage...he could already see her leaning towards him, letting him get a great view into her cleavage, reaching up to stroke his hair and coming in for a kiss.  The thought made a rock form in his stomach and he froze.  Just imagining the pressure of a moment like that made him go pale.

“No,” Steve said a bit too quickly, and he tried to smile.  “No, I’d rather…I like the sound of dancing, honestly, but it’s just...okay, don’t laugh.”  Bruce was already grinning, but he forced his face into an expression that told Steve that he wouldn’t judge him.  “I can’t dance.  I once had a date to learn how...” Steve remembered talking to Peggy on his way down.   _We’ll have the band play somethin’ slow.  I’d hate to step on your_ and then a crash so heavy and so hard that he didn’t wake up for seventy years.

“But I overslept.”

“Oh wow, did she at least let you get a rain check on that?”

Peggy Carter was almost 98 years old now – just a skeleton draped in skin, Steve imagined.  “She’d already given me one.”

Bruce shook his head with a dry whistle.  “Well, I’d say it’s time for you to learn how to dance,” Bruce said, ignoring Steve’s mumbles of protest.  “Take Maria out, make a date for dance lessons or something” –

“But I can’t go in there not knowing a _single thing about dancing_.  Bruce, _that’s_ the point I’m at.  I literally don’t know anything about dancing.”

Then Bruce did something that Steve didn’t realize he appreciated until it was already done: he put down his sandwich and went to a music player, built into the wall of the laboratory, and turned on the radio.  He appreciated this because if Bruce had asked JARVIS to turn on music, then it would be stored in his memory and he’d be able to report it to Tony.  But thank goodness that apparently there’s radio stations in satellites now, and they’ll play whatever you want pretty much.  Bruce found the big band station and let the opening strains of Duke Ellington’s “Satin Doll” ring out.  They just looked at each other as the piano tickled away and the saxes came in, and Steve remembered that sound in the air when he’d go across 110th Street during his teenage years.  Dirty tenements still being overbooked by their landlords, big dudes either nodding politely or just ignoring him because they knew how it felt to get kicked around for something they couldn’t control, black girls so pretty that he was as horrified to talk to them as he was to any other woman in the world.  Peeking into the open door of a speakeasy to see two men leaning together at the bar, hands clasped together where everyone could see.

“I’ll lead,” Steve heard Bruce say, and it snapped him back into reality.  He reached out before he could think, before he’d have to explain why he looked so distracted.  His mouth went dry at the hand on his hip and the fact that they stood so close that their belt buckles clinked together with every move.  They weren’t doing much, just moving around in time to the music, Bruce speaking up occasionally to help Steve find the beat or adjust his steps.  The song ended and Steve went to move away, but Bruce didn’t let go as the next song began.  

“Oh, Sondheim - this is a good one,” Bruce said, his tone casual as always but his eyes lit up in a way that let Steve know he wasn’t the only one having fun.  “I can actually teach you a real dance to this one.  Foxtrot.  Here we go.”

Bruce described the basic step to him and they went around the room in gentle circles, having to adjust their step occasionally due to furniture or robots roving here and there.  “Slow, quick quick, slow,” Bruce whispered as they danced, his eyes on Steve but Steve’s eyes on his feet.  “Don’t look down.  I mean get the step right, but then look at your partner.”  

Steve nodded and looked up at the gentle smile on Bruce’s face.  The hand on his hip rubbed small circles there somehow as it gently led him around the room, big glass windows letting the light of Manhattan into their scrubbed steel space.  Steve felt the hand slide from his hip around to the small of his back, pulling him closer.  He worried about stepping on Bruce’s feet, but he didn’t.  It was quiet so far up from the traffic and noise of the streets below, the only sounds in the room being Stephen Sondheim and the smooth slide of their shoes on the ground.  Brown eyes stared into blue-grey ones, gazes never breaking as they moved, slow-quick-quick-slow, around the lab.   

“You’ve got rhythm,” Bruce said, and Steve laughed his thanks, going red slightly from the compliment.  He dipped his head out of embarrassment and felt his hair brush the side of Bruce’s face as he let his forehead rest on the scientist’s shoulder for a moment.  He looked back up and Bruce was looking away, the faintest trace of sweat making the dip in his throat shine just slightly.

“Thanks for helping me find it,” Steve said, and Bruce glanced as he smiled, as if he didn’t want to look in his eyes.  The song ended with a grand note from the band, and this time Bruce let go even before the note was finished.

“Good job,” Bruce said, clapping his hands together in all too professional of a fashion for Steve.  “You’ll get dancing down in no time.”

“Thanks to you.”

Bruce didn’t seem to know how to respond to that; he took off his glasses and cleaned their lenses, though they were perfectly fine.  “Maria should be impressed with your first time dancing.”

Steve’s gut flinched at the sound of Maria’s name, and he refused to think about why any mention of her during moments with Bruce seemed to throw him off a bit.  He tried not to let it show, and instead just smiled and shook his head a bit.

“Already had my first dance,” Steve said, and he couldn’t resist saying the next thing to come out of his mouth.  “I’m glad it was you.”

“Yeah?” Bruce responded, sarcastic.  “World War II hero has his first dance with....” He knew that Steve didn’t like hearing him disparage himself.  “...some guy.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Steve said with a shrug.  “I’d rather it be you than some dame I don’t care for.  Someone I’ll never see again and wouldn’t care to anyway.”

Steve, all big and tall in front of him, lips smiling and eyes sparkling, not even winded, just said he’d rather dance with Bruce than with...who?  Some dame he doesn’t care for? Maria?  

“Glad I could help,” Bruce said.  It was all he could think to say.

“You always do,” Steve responded.  

They stood there for a moment.  Steve thought about leaving but had to be honest with himself: he didn’t want to leave.  He was about to anyway when Bruce turned to his half-eaten banh mi, forgotten on the lab table, and picked it up.

“Thanks for dinner,” Bruce said, gesturing with the sandwich, and Steve laughed.  Dinner and dancing.   _Well_ _you’re in it now, Rogers_ , he thought to himself – chest-deep in rehearsing for a date with his maybe-girlfriend, and neck-deep in what was turning out to be an _actual_ date with Bruce Banner.  Neither bothered him, especially with the way Bruce grinned at him, his sandwich still in his hand.  

Steve picked up his own sandwich, then looked around at the messy lab tables before spotting the small sitting area where they’d shared dinner before.  “Care to sit down, then?” he asked, but he didn’t wait for Bruce’s reply before walking towards the couch.  He was in it now.

 

There was only a coffee table so they ate their sandwiches out of their laps, chatting quite comfortably even though their quick dance lesson had clearly matured into something much more over the course of just two songs.  Bruce picked at random pieces of cilantro that had fallen out of his sandwich, pressing his finger down to them and then licking them off.  He cleaned his plate diligently, leaving nothing on it - not because he was hungry but because Steve had already finished his sandwich and was now watching him eat, watching him suck his fingers, saying nothing for the longest time.

“You seem hungry,” Steve finally said dryly, and he seemed to realize this and took a long swig of his beer.

“Great sandwich,” Bruce responded.  “Where’d you get it – that place on 7th?”

“I made it,” Steve said, and Bruce’s eyebrows rose in surprise.  “Don’t get impressed – it’s just a sandwich.  But still, I’m glad you like it.  See, I’m not so bad at dinner and dancing.”

Bruce’s eyes widened just slightly before he coughed a bit, recovering quickly as he dug around for a napkin.  “No, not bad at all,” Bruce said as he wiped his hands clean.  “See, a fun date doesn’t have to be some big to-do.  You’re doing a great job, actually.  Best date I’ve had in a while.”  They both laughed for a moment, then Bruce added, “Actually it’s the _only_ date I’ve had in a while.”

Bruce continued to chuckle a bit as he balled up his napkin and sat it on top of his plate, which now rested on the floor.  When he sat back up straight Steve was right beside him, pressed hip-to-hip with him, and he glanced to see Steve’s arm stretched across the back of the couch.  

“Oh,” was all Bruce could think to say, but still he leaned back, pressing himself into the side of Steve’s body.  “You shouldn’t feel like you have to… I mean I know this isn’t…” Bruce trailed off then, letting out a surprisingly shaky breath.

“Isn’t what?”

Bruce grinned sheepishly and chuckled, closing his eyes against Steve’s gaze.  

“Wow,” he said.  “I’m not _that_ much of a charity case, am I?”

“I’m here because I want to be,” Steve said.  “No other reason.  And anyway we’re on a date now, Bruce.  This is what happens on dates, right?” He left his arm around Bruce’s shoulders as he turned slightly to face him.  “You have dinner, you dance, you talk and you laugh...and then what happens?”

Steve leaned in, eyes flicking down to Bruce’s lips, but a gentle hand planted in his chest stopped him.  “Steve.” One word was all Bruce spoke, and it was a mistake because coupled with the look in his eyes and the way his hand rubbed gently at Steve’s chest, it didn’t come across _at all_ the way Bruce had meant.  Steve continued his approach, a bit slower this time, and he knew he was all right when Bruce sighed and let his hand slide around, under Steve’s arm and to his back, and gently pulled him closer.

Steve pressed his lips against Bruce’s, kissing softly and savoring the warmth that grew around them.  Steve’s lips parted and Bruce seemed to take that as a sign, because he parted his lips too and dipped his tongue into Steve’s mouth, licking shyly.  Their mouths were spicy like jalapenos and laced with the green essence of cilantro – a new, unique flavor that Steve had never tasted on a lover before.  Steve opened wider and took more of Bruce in, touching his face and letting his fingertips slide down his jaw and to his neck.  Bruce shivered against his lips and his hand was back against Steve’s chest, and they shared a final kiss before finally leaning apart. They just stared for a moment, seemingly in awe of this evening or what just happened or each other.

The kiss comes right before you kiss some more.  Or you kiss, and then get invited inside.  That’s what Steve was thinking, but he couldn’t even mention such a thing.  He decided he’d stay silent, let Bruce make the decision.  Unfortunately it was one that he hadn’t thought of earlier, but probably should have.

“And this is the part of the date where we say goodnight,” Bruce said quietly.

“Yeah,” Steve mumbled, and he pressed his forehead to Bruce’s for a moment – he wanted to remember this – before standing and picking up both of their plates off of the floor.  He turned back to the couch then and gave what he hoped was a confident nod, and he tried his best to smile warmly.

“Goodnight, Bruce.”

“Goodnight.  And really, thank you for tonight.  I had fun.”

“Me too.  Hey, let’s do it again one of these days.”

Bruce paused, but only for a moment. “Anytime.”

Steve went back to his suite and took a shower.  When he finished jerking off he leaned against the wall in front of him, the downpour showerhead drenching him with a torrent of water.  He felt like he might drown, but he liked it.  Very different from freezing.

He knew what he had to do.  He knew the only way he’d get relief from this (how could he actually _want_ a thing like _that_ ) would be to fuck something.  He could only jerk off so much before it got old and tiring, and there was nothing like having another warm body to bury himself inside of.  He couldn’t take it much longer.

Maybe it wouldn’t come to that, he hoped.  Because there was only one person that he _should_ be fucking, and he really couldn’t say that he wanted to fuck her.

 

*

 

Steve parked his motorcycle on the street and walked up to the call box, then entered the code.  He hadn’t been to his apartment in Brooklyn in about a month and he hated to think of how dusty and shut in it probably smelled.  He started by grabbing a few things to take back to the Tower with him, and then he got on with dusting and vacuuming – he imagined he should keep the place in shape just in case he brought someone there, but he couldn’t imagine who. 

Well, Maria _did_ still drop the occasional hint about coming over, but she did it more subtly than ever.  Perhaps she’d picked up on his distaste for anything too forward, but he knew she wanted to get him alone.  He imagined that she chalked up his shyness to the fact that he was actually ninety years old, but he still got a sense of frustration from her and he regretted that.  She was so beautiful and truly unique, and Steve was almost embarrassed by the fact that he couldn’t motivate himself to be more into her.  He knew he’d have to fuck her soon, but he really didn’t want to.  He just didn’t.

He shook the idea out of his head while he vacuumed, circling around his living room, and the movement of his feet made him grin.  If he moved the chair and the coffee table there’d be plenty of room to dance in here.  He had a record player – places still sold records, didn’t they? 

The vacuum stopped and Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.  He had a “date” with Bruce tonight.  Dinner and dancing at ten, because Bruce has to work.  They made the “date” in jest when Steve mentioned enjoying their last lesson and practicing alone in his room over the past few days, and Bruce casually offered to have a real practice with him during his dinner break.  Steve offered to bring food again, and then the jokes started.  Still, Steve’s stomach tightened when he tried to think of what to cook. 

Would he try to lure Bruce to his apartment? 

_Don’t think ‘lure,’ you creep.  You shouldn’t be thinking that stuff at all, anyway.  It’s not a real date.  You’re gonna eat with a friend and he’s gonna teach you how to dance.  That’s all.  Not a real date._

 

It was two in the morning and Steve was still in Bruce’s lab, sketching while Bruce worked.  They’d already eaten – penne Bolognese from a place uptown – and practiced their foxtrot, and Bruce had to take a break to finish up some work, a break which ended up being about 3 hours long.  So Steve just went and got his sketchpad and took to drawing the myriad holographic displays and images that lit up the lab, overlapping in his drawing – a delightful and confusing mess unlike anything he’d ever drawn before.  Things could still surprise him, and he liked that.

“Where’d you learn to dance like that?” Steve asked.

“Like what?” Bruce responded from his workstation across the table from Steve.  “Foxtrot’s easy, waltz is easy…”

“But you have to start somewhere.”

“Betty liked ballroom dance, so we took a few lessons in college.  After that...I traveled a lot and I don’t know, I’d occasionally end up at a party in a village somewhere, and people get so excited about there being a doctor in town…someone would always asks me to dance.”

“And you would always say yes?”

“Not always.  Depends on who’s asking.”

Steve looked back to his sketchbook but didn’t stop the smile spreading on his face.  “You’d say yes if I asked?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I’d love to, but I’m working on a drawing right now.”

It was a lame joke, but Bruce still laughed and walked around the table to see Steve’s work.  He rested an elbow on Steve’s shoulder as he leaned down to peer at the pencil drawing.

“Nice,” Bruce said, running a finger lightly over the image.

“Want it?” Steve asked.  “I’m almost done.”

“I’ll take it,” Bruce said, patting Steve’s shoulder in gratitude, but the touch triggered something much more in both of them, it seemed.  Their jovial smiles began to fade, began to slip into something more purposeful as machines whirred around them.  There was no music playing, but Steve thought he heard some coming from somewhere in the building.  Marimbas, violins, muted trumpets.

Steve didn’t realize they were kissing until it was over and all he could smell and taste was Bruce, sweet and dark and spicy in his mouth and all around him.  Steve licked at his lips and pulled Bruce – who was looking just as flustered as Steve – back to him by the back of his neck. 

They were only able to share one more rather chaste kiss before Bruce wedged an arm between them.  His face seemed unsure when he asked, “What about Maria?”

Steve suppressed a wince.  He wasn’t sure how to respond – he just wanted to keep kissing, keeping tasting Bruce until he was tired of his mouth, and then taste more.  So Steve opted to say nothing and he moved in again, and to his surprise Bruce didn’t stop him.  They kissed again, more gently this time, slow and sweet and for quite a while until Steve made a move to turn towards Bruce, parting his legs and pulling the scientist between them.  And then Bruce leaned away, giving Steve’s shoulders a corny pat as if he had no idea what else to do.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Bruce said, his eyes tense and barely meeting Steve’s own.

“But we both” –

“That’s not the point.  I gotta work, and it’s like 2:30 in the morning.  You should go to bed.  Don’t you have a date tomorrow night?”

The comment stung so much and Steve rocked back on his stool a bit, moving away from Bruce.  But he knew he had no right to get mad.  He couldn’t act like Maria didn’t exist, and he knew that their every kiss was a betrayal to her.

“No I don’t, actually,” Steve said as evenly as he could, “but you’re right.  It’s really late.  Goodnight, Bruce.”  He stood and gathered his sketchpad and pencils, and he felt stupid for trying to avoid Bruce’s eyes.

“Feel free to sleep in,” Bruce said, and Steve finally looked at him. “I have to be up in a few hours to check on this so, I’ll be – I mean, I’ll, um…I can leave you breakfast in the microwave if you want.”

“Thanks.”

 

*

 

Tony strode into the kitchen to find Steve standing in front of the running microwave, just staring into his coffee as he waited for the machine to heat something for him.  Steve turned and acknowledged him, nodding, but he didn’t speak.  He actually looked tired.

“Just wakin’ up?” Tony asked, and Steve nodded.  “Wow, it’s like _ten_.”

“Kinda early for _you_ , actually,” Steve said, and Tony gave a good-natured grin as he poured himself coffee.

“Maybe,” Tony said, and the ding of the microwave actually startled him a bit.  Steve opened the door and pulled out an omelet, big and yellow and bulging with what Tony hoped was steak and cheese.  Steve picked up a nearby jar of salsa (barbacoa, probably – leftovers from last night) and sat at the kitchen island, digging into his breakfast without another word.

“You seem hungry,” Tony said, and Steve’s head shot up like a bullet.   _You seem hungry_.  No, no, no.  Was _any_ thing private in Stark Tower?

“I am,” he mumbled, and went back to his breakfast, though he could barely taste it now.

“Okay, buddy,” Tony said, and he came around the island to stand beside Steve, “I’m not gonna play games with ya.  It’s not nice.”  He leaned in and put an arm around Steve’s shoulders, which made Steve’s fork pause in the air.  “There are cameras all over the place here.  Not everywhere – not on the residential floors – but I definitely have them in the labs here – you know, for accidents and such.  And they’re all on closed circuits so don’t worry about S.H.I.E.L.D. spying on us or anything, but…” Tony’s voice dropped, and his eyes darted around for a quick second.  “I don’t know, you and Dr. Banner probably wanna stop making out in his lab.”

Steve put down his fork and let out a panicked breath.  “Wow, I…” and his throat seemed to close up.  So he just put his head in his hands, trying to hide his blood-red face, and he felt Tony’s hand give him what he guessed was supposed to be a comforting shake.

“Hey, relax,” Tony said, and his voice had a tone to it that was strangely polite.  “No need to freak out, I deleted the files and actually set J.A.R.V.I.S. to disengage surveillance whenever your biometrics are detected in _that_ particular lab.  But I don’t like doing that because bad shit can _still_ go down, so just.  You know.  Take it to the bedroom.”

“Why were you even looking at” –

“Because Bruce and I are working on a project that requires a lot of watching.  He missed one of his shifts last night so I had to check the video feed to examine the sample, and…let’s just say that _you_ , sir, are _much_ more forward than I’d thought you’d be.”

“Shit.” Somewhere inside of him he was repulsed by such language, but that was drowned out by an almost crippling sense of embarrassment.  He didn’t think Tony was _trying_ to embarrass him but he had never wanted to share those private moments with anyone else, let alone Tony Stark, the biggest smartass he’d ever met.

“No, seriously, you’re lucky it was me,” Tony continued.  “The security guys had already gone home for the day, so there was no one watching the feed.  And I won’t tell anyone or anything” –

“Right.”

“No, no, really.  Bruce would let the green guy turn me into burger.  Already said he would.”

Steve finally looked up from his hands, and Tony was casually sipping his coffee.

“You told him about this already?”

“Oh hell no.  He knows about the cameras but I’d never tell him I saw the video.  He’d be out of here and in, like, Darfur in a second.  The video – now _that_ was new for me, but I already knew about you two.  Bruce told me.”  Tony reached into his drink and flicked out a stray coffee ground, and the feeling of horror lessened in Steve’s stomach.  “After your first dance lesson.  I gotta say, dinner and dancing – that’s a no-lose situation for a date.  And it’s _clearly_ getting you better results than the opera.”  

Tony checked his watch then, and he groaned as he started moving towards the door.  “You’re better at this than I thought, Rogers.  Anyway.  Gotta go, the lab’s about to explode without me.”  He turned around then to face Steve one more time.  “It’s probably best if you don’t tell him we had this conversation.  You’re not supposed to know that I know about…well, you get it.  So, yeah.  Keep it quiet.”


	5. Deep Breaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It’s been a while since I saw you,” Bruce said._   
> _“Since breakfast?”_   
> _Bruce grinned, then continued, “Don’t be cruel. You know what I mean.” He swirled his fingers around Steve’s stomach, drawing a quiet hum out of him. That was when Steve realized what Bruce meant: that he missed him._   
> _“You know, I think you’re the one who’s being cruel right now.”_
> 
> * * *

Steve would have never guessed in a million years that Tony would stay true to his word about the security video, but, sure enough, he did. Steve never heard another word about it, and from what he could tell, Bruce hadn’t been told. That scene in the lab had been tense towards the end but Bruce was clearly sorry for the comment he made, as Steve found breakfast in the microwave for him for three days after that. Finally Steve got up early enough to help Bruce cook, and Bruce went deep red when Steve walked in.

Steve still came to visit in the lab, sometimes bringing his sketchbook, and he still assisted with dinner. They seemed to hold back for the most part, but there were occasional light touches – brief moments of fingers brushing beneath tabletops, or perhaps a hand slipping along a hip as they said goodbye.

A week had passed since their kiss, and Bruce came into his lab after a conference call to finish up for the night. He’d skipped dinner to keep working on this project, which was slowly starting to devour much of his lab time. He dropped the roll-out console onto the table and almost rolled it onto a plate of derek tibs and store-bought injera, still hot. There was a note along with his dinner, and it read: _I really am terrible at doing a ball change. I’m downstairs._

This time they practiced to a mellow version of “Cuban Pete” in the camera-free sanctuary of the common room. Natasha and Clint were both upstate at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters for an undisclosed amount of time, so they were all alone and taking full advantage of it. The television was on but muted, and this time they let JARVIS fill the room with the sweet sounds of trumpets and percussion. They laughed as they swirled about, both of them astounded by Steve’s inability to master a move as simple as a ball change. They nearly toppled a table over and laughed until they were breathless from it, then took hold of each other again, slipping into their familiar foxtrot. Steve led this time, holding Bruce close with a large hand pressed into the arch of his back.

“Hold on,” Bruce said. “You know you do a ball change almost every other step in the foxtrot, right?” Steve smiled impishly and continued to pull Bruce along. “You’re slick.”

“I just wanna be good at leading, that’s all.”

“You are,” Bruce said, and Steve didn’t look away even though he was blushing. “Look at you, you’re not even staring at your feet anymore. This is becoming effortless for you.”

“No, no,” Steve corrected him. “I’m just making it _look_ effortless.”

“As any good dancer does.”

“Well, I’ve got a great teacher.”

It was Bruce’s turn to blush now, and he showed just as much strength by also not looking away. They were alone and the music was beautiful, so Steve gave in finally and dipped his head down to kiss Bruce. Their dance stopped as their lips pressed together softly, Bruce’s hand finding Steve’s face. Steve backed away slightly and licked his lips, then smiled.

“Your mouth is always spicy when we kiss,” he whispered against Bruce’s lips, and he smiled when he went in again, their mouths open and searching for more of that essence. Bruce’s hands slid around Steve’s waist and down to his ass, resting there as they kissed, and when he gave a soft squeeze he saw Steve’s eyes flick open. Slowly they closed again and there was a curious hum against his lips as they continued to kiss, and the hum turned into something more amused once Steve felt Bruce’s fingertips at the buckle of his belt.

“Do we wanna…” Bruce began, and there was something hesitant in his voice that Steve didn’t like.

“I wanna see your room,” Steve said against his mouth, and he was already pulling them towards Bruce’s door.

He was surprised to feel a slight resistance as he ushered Bruce towards the bedroom, and though they weren’t kissing anymore the shorter man was still holding onto him in earnest.

“Actually,” Bruce said, and just the tone of that word was enough to derail Steve’s efforts completely, “I was gonna ask if we wanna…shouldn’t there be _some_ discussion of the person you’re seeing –”

“Bruce, I…” Steve whispered, and he didn’t continue because he didn’t have anything to say. He didn’t want to have that conversation right now. He just wanted to know what Bruce’s bed looked like, how soft the sheets were, how well he would sleep there. He wasn’t sure why he’d even agreed to go out with Maria in the first place now – oh yeah, to play nice with Tony, since he’d gone through the trouble of setting them up without either of their permission. But that didn’t matter because he was in it now, dating this woman while also secretly kissing his friend, who was nothing less than a great person. He should have known that it wouldn’t be as simple as just backing Bruce into his bedroom.

“We’re not serious or anything,” he tried, but Bruce’s expression didn’t waver. “I mean, her and me – we’re just…dating.”

“You sound more modern every day,” Bruce said, and he smiled though Steve didn’t. “Still, I don’t think she’d appreciate it.” Steve loosened his grip around Bruce’s shoulders, and Bruce replied by tightening his hold on Steve’s waist.

“I want to,” Bruce whispered, his face only centimeters from Steve’s. “But you’re seeing someone that we both work with, and I don’t like it when things get messy.” Bruce let him go then, and Steve dropped his head with a defeated chuckle. “We can’t, okay? Not until you straighten that out.”

Steve stood up straight and tried to play it off, though now his face was red for an entirely different reason. “It’s fine,” he said. “Really – I mean, you’re right. I just, uh…” Steve looked around anxiously. “I’m gonna go to the gym then.”

Steve was doing a horrible job of hiding his disappointment, and Bruce sounded sad when he said, “Don’t destroy too many bags on my account, okay?”

Steve was tempted to just walk out, feeling insulted and rejected, but he knew Bruce was right. It wasn’t fair to Maria. It wasn’t the right thing to do. So instead he wrapped an arm around Bruce’s shoulders, trying to appear casual, but he knew it wasn’t working when Bruce pressed his face into his neck, breathing into Steve’s skin.

 

*

 

They stayed away from each other for almost two weeks after that one. Well, Steve still helped cook but they didn’t dance together, didn’t chat while Steve sketched or while Bruce worked. They said hi in the kitchen, cooked and made the worst of small talk, and then went to eat in their rooms. It seemed that neither of them could let that go – they both understood that the dancing was too intimate, but cooking…Steve couldn’t let Bruce start cooking alone again over all this. And besides, they listened to music while they prepared dinner – gorgeous big band and mambo, though they both swayed alone to the songs. There was really no need to talk at all.

Sleep was becoming a bit of a struggle for Steve, even after exhausting himself with exercise and jerking off, and when he slept it was only to dream of kissing Bruce again. He knew where this was leading and though he dreaded it in a way, he didn’t see the point of resisting it. He felt like a spring that was coiled too tightly, full of energy and electricity and just waiting for the perfect outlet. He knew what his perfect outlet would be, but...fuck, he was dating this chick. And _she_ was supposed to be his outlet. So he had to go where all of this was leading, and which was to a date with Maria. _The_ date.

 

*

 

The super soldier serum meant that Steve did sweat the slightest bit more than most people, but he felt like he was pouring buckets as he washed his hands in the bathroom of the dance hall. It turned out that Maria had studied Latin dance in college so she was bursting with rhythm, moved effortlessly to complex beats and screaming horns. So he booked foxtrot lessons in an effort to save face, only to find out that the foxtrot is considered so basic a step that Maria mentioned that she had actually been required to demonstrate it before being allowed to enroll in dance classes at all.

Still, Steve smiled and stuck out an elbow upon exiting the restroom, and Maria hooked her arm into it and strode smiling down the hall with him.

Lessons weren’t so bad. The opposite, actually. The instructor was bubbly and vibrant and the other couples kept their awe silent as they watched Captain America dance. They had dinner afterwards and held hands the entire car ride there, and Maria nudged his knee with her toe underneath the table while they ate. He ignored it the first time but started giving her (what he hoped was) a flirtatious smile after the third or fourth time she did it.

When the car Tony hired for them dropped them at Maria’s hotel room, it sped off as they kissed goodnight.

“Uh oh,” Maria said, but her face wasn’t as worried as her voice. “Come on up, we can call another car.”

Steve was just about to mention that he could just flag down a cab to take him back to the tower, but he knew what was happening here, and he shouldn’t resist it. Besides, he knew what would happen if we went back to the tower – tell Bruce about the date, practicing dancing, kiss, destroy a few bags, jerk off, go to sleep – and it was time to nip that in the bud. He wanted to prove to himself that he could do this.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had gotten Maria a top-floor suite at the Four Seasons. Just for one night in Manhattan. Steve had an idea that Tony might have been involved in that decision, knowing that she was coming to the city for a date. Steve shook his head then, realizing that the driver had probably been instructed to speed off once they got to the hotel. He smirked, as this was another one of Tony’s many attempts to “help” him after he’d divulged that he had yet to bed the agent. Tony also knew about his thing with Bruce, but he supposed that Tony kept playing along with this Maria bit because Steve kept playing along with it too.

“My feet are _killing_ me,” Maria mumbled as she walked past him, and she stopped at the door of the bedroom to remove her shoes. Her dress was black and tight, not particularly short but it still made her legs look a mile long as she stepped out of her (definitely expensive) pumps. She looked over her shoulder at him as she leaned to pick them up, then said, “Come on in, get comfortable.” She reached back and took the pin out of her hair, letting it fall onto her shoulders.

_Dear God. I’m in it now._ “Where’s the restroom?”

He didn’t move from his spot in front of the door, and he tried to appear casual by sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Maria was sitting on her bed and pouring a glass of wine, and her face fell the tiniest bit before she caught herself and smiled, then gestured to a door in her bedroom, off to the left. Steve walked in quickly, avoiding the bed and going straight to the bathroom. It was modern and sleek but Steve barely noticed as he put the toilet lid down and sat on it. He leaned his head back and gave a quiet sigh.

_Jesus Christ. What am I supposed to do here? She’s probably getting naked out there or something, I don’t know…I can’t handle this. I can’t do this._ He got up and went to the mirror then, and he almost laughed at his pallid face, his eyes and lips forced into strange, worried shapes.

_Yes you can. You’ve slept with a girl before. Go out there and give her the night of her life. Or something. Just hurry up and get this out of your system, because you know what will happen at home if you don’t._

He turned on the water and washed his hands, then dried them and took a deep breath as he dropped the towel on the countertop. He opened the door and saw Maria sitting on her bed in yellow shorts and a purple tank top – nothing risqué, but he’d never seen that much of her skin before and it made him feel antsy, nervous. She’d closed the curtains, turned on the television, and was now drinking her wine, and she’d poured a glass for him as well. It sat on the nightstand on the other side of the bed, and he knew what that meant.

Steve went to the bed and sat, leaning over to remove his shoes. He kicked one off and then felt a hand slide up his back, up and around to grasp his shoulder as what he knew to be the full front of Maria Hill pressed itself against him. He tried to grin to himself, but it faded as he sat up and her arms wrapped around his waist, her lips traveling on his neck.

Steve tried to think of something to say. He tried to figure out how he’d put an end to this while Maria climbed around to the front of him and straddled his lap. He was happy she was kissing him because he couldn’t bear to look in her eyes right then. She pressed him back into the mattress and devoured his lips, and her fingers went for the buttons of his shirt.

_Oh shit. No turning back now._ He let her unbutton him and push his shirt off. _Deep breaths, Steve._

An hour later, Steve sat nude on the edge of Maria’s bed. She was standing, tying a robe on. He wasn’t facing her.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, but he could hear Maria huff as she walked towards the bathroom. “That’s never happened to me before. Don’t take it personally –”

The bathroom door slammed shut. Steve stood up to get dressed.

 

*

 

Steve was in the elevator on his way up to the residential floors of Stark Tower, and it was only eleven at night. He knew that it was too early to come home from the sort of date he was _supposed_ to be having. He’d really wanted to have sex tonight – he _needed_ to, in a way – and he hadn’t been able to succeed at it with the most beautiful woman he knew. Now he was back home and back in the den of his oblivious tormentor. He desperately hoped he wouldn’t run into Bruce or anyone else on the way to his rooms. The elevator dinged and he braced himself, ready to stride out and head straight to his bed.

He stepped out and took a right, then almost ran into a wall. One of Tony’s lab bots whirred up to him and then whirred right off, quickly assessing that he wasn’t in need of assistance. Steve had pressed the wrong button and sent himself up to Bruce’s lab. Without even thinking about it. The elevator opened right into the workspace, and he looked up to see Tony and Bruce manipulating a 3-D hologram of one of Iron Man’s gauntlets, stripping away the armor to view the pistons and circuits within. They both looked up at him, and Bruce cracked a soft smile as Tony’s went a mile wide.

“It’s early, Cap!” Tony said, leaving their work to walk over to Steve, who still stood in front of the elevator. “I thought you had a date tonight.”

“I did,” Steve said, and he couldn’t help but glance at Bruce, who was still examining the image of the gauntlet. “Um…it was fine, just ended a little earlier than I thought.”

Bruce glanced over at him then, and Steve could feel his own face heating up. Tony seemed to grin a bit in front of him, but Steve didn’t look away. He felt agitated, anxious and unsatisfied after what had happened, and he almost wanted to dare Tony to make a wisecrack.

“Ya know what I think?” Tony began, shaking a finger in the air, and he looked over at Bruce, almost as if seeking approval for the probably-hilarious tirade he was clearly about to unleash on Steve, but he didn’t get it. Bruce was focused on his work, easing his glasses back up onto his nose as he typed out specs onto a tablet. He turned back to Steve then, who wasn’t even looking at him anymore. “I think I’ll leave you to it, doctor. It’s bedtime.” He patted Steve’s shoulder and walked to the elevator, pressing the button and getting in. “Don’t stay up too late.”

Tony’s departure was a blessing because Bruce immediately stopped fiddling with the hologram and turned to Steve, who was now approaching him.

“How’d it go?” he asked, and Steve just shook his head as he walked over beside Bruce and leaned back against the lab table.

“Started out okay, I think,” Steve said, crossing his arms as he tended to. “Dancing was fun, dinner was good. I think Tony paid the driver to leave me at her hotel, though.”

Bruce smirked and shook his head, confirming Steve’s suspicions. “Yeah, he told me he was gonna do that.”

Steve cursed under his breath, but still he smiled. “Well, I guess I can blame _him_ for what happened next.”

“What?”

“I…it was…what do they call it nowadays? Performance anxiety?” Steve’s smile faded as he turned red, remembering Maria’s face once it was clear that he wasn’t going to be able to give her the night of her life. “I couldn’t get it up.” He resisted the urge to hang his head in shame, and instead just looked away from Bruce’s eyes. “Which makes _no_ sense, honestly, because, I mean, I was ready. Or I thought I was.”

Bruce nodded and removed his glasses, then reached out and gave Steve’s arm a sympathetic pat. “That _will_ happen,” he said, but Steve’s smirk said that he didn’t believe him. “It’s not abnormal. Hopefully she understood.”

“Not really,” Steve said ruefully, and Bruce winced. “I mean she wasn’t rude or anything and she really tried to help me get there, but in the end I just don’t think she was particularly impressed with me.”

“That can’t be it,” Bruce said, and he wiped at the sensor on the table, making the hologram disappear. “She was probably just really looking forward to it.”

“So was I,” Steve responded, and he didn’t like what that statement did to Bruce’s smile. “I mean I was really just looking forward to going to bed with her. With _somebody_. I really don’t think this is going anywhere with me and her, but right when I thought we’d move into some kind of…I don’t know, easiness or something, it just didn’t happen. Because of me.”

“You were just nervous –”

“No. I wasn’t.” Steve let his eyes rest on a spot on the floor. “I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want it, but I thought I could just do what everyone does nowadays and sleep with whoever. I mean I’ve done that before and I thought I was _ready_ , ya know, but when I got in there with her I just couldn’t…” He looked at Bruce then, who had moved so close that their shoulders touched now. “I just don’t feel that way about her. I mean she’s a lovely person, but…” He sighed when he felt Bruce’s hand on his shoulder. “She’s just not the person I want to sleep with right now.” Bruce’s hand fell from his shoulder then, like he knew it would. “I might hit the gym before bed, go a few rounds on a couple of bags.” He gave a light laugh. “That's probably the only way I'll get any sleep tonight.”

Bruce breathed a chuckle, then put his glasses in his shirt pocket. “I know that strategy,” he said. “But it’s not quite the same, is it?”

“Never is.”

Bruce stood facing the lab table with Steve beside him, leaned back against it with his arms crossed. Bruce reached out then and ran a hand along Steve’s arm, up to his shoulder and down his chest slowly. Steve sighed when Bruce’s hand came to rest on his stomach, just rubbing there gently. It was enough to make him hard as a rock, plainly evident by the tent in his pants, and he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t dying of embarrassment right now. He still looked into Bruce’s eyes, watching them peek down for a moment before Bruce looked back up at him with an expression that was titillated but also rather muted. Bruce’s coyness only served to make Steve even harder.

“It’s been a while since I saw you,” Bruce said.

“Since breakfast?”

Bruce grinned, then continued, “Don’t be cruel. You know what I mean.” He swirled his fingers around Steve’s stomach, drawing a quiet hum out of him. That was when Steve realized what Bruce meant: that he missed him.

“You know, I think _you’re_ the one who’s being cruel right now,” Steve said, leaning closer as his erection pulled his pants tight on him. “Whatever this is…between us, I really don’t think I can take much more of it.”

Bruce opened his mouth to speak but then seemed to think better of it, instead just letting his hand slide around from Steve’s stomach to his side. He leaned up and kissed Steve, pressing him back against the stainless steel table. Bruce wedged a thigh between his legs and pressed softly at him, making Steve moan into his mouth as they tasted away at each other. Bruce could taste wine as he rubbed at the rock hard bulge in Steve’s pants, and though the touch was modest at best it still made Steve’s face turn blood red. He pulled his mouth away and bit his lip hard, muffling what would have been an embarrassingly adolescent cry.

Bruce could sense the tension that was built up in this man, the desire that he rarely gave voice to, and so he decided that he should show a little mercy to Steve (and himself), at least this once. He unzipped Steve’s pants and wrestled an impressive erection out of them, letting it stand straight in the cool air. Steve didn’t look away, though his face went redder at suddenly being exposed. He felt a warm hand wrap around his cock and he couldn’t help the moan that fell out of his mouth.

Bruce started jerking him off slowly, and Steve held Bruce’s gaze as his surprisingly calloused hand traveled up and down Steve’s hard-on. Bruce stopped to spit into his hand and then started again, whispering the words, “You’re beautiful,” which made the soldier grin through his pleasure. Soon his grin faded as his eyes began to blink a bit, and he tried to keep eye contact though it was becoming quite a struggle. He put an arm around Bruce’s neck as he began to move his hips, meeting each stroke with little whine that told Bruce that somebody wasn’t gonna be lasting very long.

_Deep breaths_ , Steve tried to remind himself, but it was no use. The tip of his cock began to shine with precome and Bruce paused to swirl his thumb in it, spreading it all around the head and coaxing an almost pathetic sound out of Steve. He kept jerking him off now, and Steve’s eyes were barely open as he thrust at Bruce’s hand, face glistening lightly with sweat. Bruce kissed his lips and then his neck, pausing there to lick and suck, and then Steve said something that he’d promised his mom that he never would: “ _Goddamnit_ , Bruce.”

Bruce just laughed softly against his neck, fist still working intently on Steve’s cock, which had now reddened and almost throbbed visibly with each stroke. He glanced down at his handiwork and gave a hum of approval, and he trailed his lips up Steve’s neck to his ear. What he whispered there was totally unfair to Steve, because Bruce knew it would be his undoing.

“Would you prefer it if I sucked your cock instead?”

Steve’s eyes widened and shot to Bruce’s, and he imagined those same eyes looking up at him, his hands fisted in salt-and-pepper hair, fucking that mouth…

“Oh…oh god oh _shit_ …” And he was coming in Bruce’s hand now, shooting it all over, getting it on their pants and their shoes and the floor. It was a mess but neither of them resisted, neither stopped as Steve gave what Dr. Banner would describe as the healthiest ejaculation he’d ever fucking seen. _That serum must have amplified EVERYTHING_ , Bruce thought, and it finally ended when he started to think it might not. He let Steve slump against the table, huffing raggedly and barely standing, as Bruce wiped his hand on his own ruined pants.

Steve panted and pulled himself together, lazily tucking his already softening cock back into his clothes. His eyes were half-lidded and glazed as they met Bruce’s, and the doctor grinned as he retrieved his glasses from his pocket.

“Feel better?” Bruce asked as he put them on, and Steve coughed out a bit of a laugh as he zipped himself back up.

“Much,” he responded, and he rested an elbow on Bruce’s shoulder as he continued to catch his breath. “Gonna sleep like a baby tonight.”

Bruce laughed out loud and just shook his head, and Steve had to smile, too, as he pulled the scientist into a loose embrace.

“Let me take you out sometime,” Steve said, nuzzling Bruce’s temple. “Come on, I’m great at dinner and dancing.” They were probably past that stage now, but Steve was ever chivalrous. He was a gentleman.

“You sure are,” Bruce said quietly, still chuckling a bit. “Well, you gotta tie it off with Maria first, but after that…anytime.”

“Of course,” Steve breathed against Bruce’s temple, and inside of him his stomach did a little flip that he tried to ignore. “It’s a date.”

An hour ago he hadn’t even been able to get hard for the beautiful woman he was actually dating, and _now_ look at him. He was working himself into a bit of a pickle, he was sure of it, but he’d sort it out the next day. Right then, he was trying to figure out how to get this moment to never end.

Steve tried to sound casual, though he was still out of breath. “Any barbecue left from last night?”

“Yeah. Plenty.”

 

They went to the kitchen and prepared modest servings of ribs and baked beans and ate them on Steve’s bed, seeing as how his room was much more comfortable than Bruce’s. Bruce barely spent any time in his bedroom so it was basically just a bed, a dresser, and a few souvenirs from his travels around the world. The biggest surprise in Steve’s room was the sleek plasma television and blu-ray player, and he seemed perfectly acquainted with the technology as he loaded in a DVD copy of _The Usual Suspects_.

“This is a great movie,” Bruce said. “I didn’t think you’d have a set-up like this in your room.”

“They were a gift from Tony,” Steve responded as he started the film. “I asked him for a VCR so I could watch _Citizen Kane_ and this is what he got me. Tony bought all of this, really, but a lot of my own stuff is still at my apartment in Brooklyn. I don’t really spend a lot of time there anymore, though.”

They started out watching the movie with rapt attention even though they’d seen it before, but by the time it ended they were both asleep.

 

*

 

A tiny beep made Steve stir a bit, and he opened his eyes enough to see a smooth back facing him, Bruce's shirt balled up on the pillow beside him. The morning light just barely came in through the windows, and the figure in front of him seemed to be fiddling with his watch. He was happy to see that Bruce had not left during the night, even though it seemed that he was trying to leave now. Steve turned on his side and went to speak, but Bruce turned around before he could.

“Hey,” he whispered, “sorry about my alarm. It’s for an experiment I’m working on. I gotta check it at precise intervals.” He rested a hand on Steve’s chest then, and Steve put his own hand on top of it. “Thanks for letting me crash. I’ll leave some breakfast for you.”

Steve was still half-asleep so he just nodded, and he grinned when Bruce kissed his knuckles. He closed his eyes then, and he felt Bruce’s weight leave his bed right as he fell back asleep.


	6. Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Anything,” Steve groaned, but it was lost in their kiss, both of them now devoid of any gentlemanly tendencies they might have once had._

Shit. Surprise meeting with Fury and Hill in the Stark Tower conference room. It was only the next day since their doomed date and Steve had been hoping not to see Maria for a long while after what happened – especially after his evening with Bruce – but of course he wasn’t that lucky. He tried not to look at her as she addressed him, Tony, and Bruce, and since there were only three of them there it meant that he couldn’t blend himself away into a crowd. Her eyes betrayed nothing during their meeting, and when it ended it was almost as if everyone knew – Fury, Tony, and Bruce all huddled together immediately to discuss God-knows-what, leaving Maria and Steve staring across a huge marble table at each other.

She stood, then he stood. She grabbed her tablet and walked around the table to the door, and he did the same, keeping up with her even when she tried to speed up a bit. They met at the door then, neither speaking, and then Steve just gestured to let her exit first. The hallway was empty, thank god.

“I’m really sorry about” –

“Steve, look,” Maria said quietly, her eyes shifting a bit to make sure they were alone, “I’m the one who should apologize. I acted like a brat and that wasn’t fair to you. So _I’m_ sorry.”

“Thanks, but really, it’s alright,” he said. “I hope you’ll let me make it up to you.” Steve blinked. He wasn’t sure where a statement like that came from, especially after he’d promised Bruce he’d tie it off. Well it wasn’t a promise in the true sense of the word, but Steve had meant it like one. But what the hell drove him to ask if he could make it up to her? Some part of him was still nagging him about his failure, wanted him to give this lady a thrill because that’s what was expected of him, the super-soldier living legend that he was.

Maria just dropped her head with a chuckle, then looked up at him with an amused seriousness on her face. “You sure you wanna do that?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

She just shook her head then got up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I like you a lot, Steve,” she said. “And I really enjoy being your friend. I’ll see you around at work, okay?”

“O…kay,” he responded, his tone questioning and confused, but the look on Maria’s face still had him guessing.

 _Oh wait_ , he thought. _Did she…we’re…she just dumped me, didn’t she?_

Steve pulled back his shoulders and stood straighter, trying to hold on to any shred of dignity he might have left. He couldn’t say that he was disappointed – she was giving him an out, and he was most certainly going to take it – but it never felt good to get dumped.

“I understand,” he said, then gave her arm a pathetic caress. “I’ll see you.”

She nodded as she walked away, and Steve felt something sad tugging at his insides. He’d failed at this. He’d failed at having a girlfriend, at convincing a woman to spend time with him. He’d failed at fucking her – shit, he hadn’t even been able to _start_ , let alone fail at it.

He turned and looked back into the conference room. The other three were finally making their way towards the doorway, but he didn’t feel like talking to anyone. He decided he’d go back to his room to draw, to finish a sketch of Bruce sleeping. He was drawing it from memory.

 

 

*

 

 

“Oh wow,” Bruce mumbled, taking a seat on his bed beside Steve as he stared at the drawing. “It’s so detailed.” His finger traced lightly over the shading. “Thank you. I’m not really sure what to do with this.”

Steve just shrugged. “Give it to a friend. Give it to someone who would want a picture of you.”

Steve didn’t like Bruce’s little chuckle there, but he didn’t have time to protest before Bruce held the picture out to him.

“You can give it to Tony if you don’t want it,” he said. “Beyond you guys…I don’t think I have anyone else to give my picture to.”

Steve took the picture back with a soft smile, taking a moment to admire the likeness. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m actually happy to have it back. I finished it after that meeting the other day. It’s one of my favorites, I think.”

“Did you talk to Maria?” Bruce asked, and Steve looked away from the picture for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said, and he used his ring finger to blend a shadow a bit better. “She told me she really enjoyed being my friend and that she would see me around work.”

Bruce winced, though Steve didn’t see it. “Ouch,” he said. “I thought you’d be the one to let _her_ down. Sorry, man.”

“Nah, it’s okay, I deserved it,” Steve said, and he put the picture down on the bedside table. “And anyway, I think I’ll be alright.” He rested a hand on Bruce’s leg then, eliciting a lopsided grin from the scientist. Steve looked around at their sparse surroundings, but he wasn’t disappointed. “I like your room.”

Bruce nodded with a chuckle. “Well, it’s pretty bare-bones,” he said. “Not much to see.”

“Ha, you should see _my_ place. Feel like a good laugh tonight?”

Bruce nudged Steve dismissively, mumbling his disapproval of such a comment.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said, and then he looked up from his hands, which he’d been wringing lightly. “Actually I haven’t been to Brooklyn in years.” Bruce’s tiny smile coaxed a similar one out of Steve. “I hear there’s great Italian food in Bensonhurst.”

 

 

 

They took a cab instead of Steve’s bike. He lived in a fifth floor walk-up, but luckily neither of them minded the stairs. Steve was glad to see that not much dust had gathered since his last cleaning, but he was sure to wipe a few things down while Bruce was in the bathroom. He heard the door to the bathroom open and he dropped the dust rag in the seat of a chair, and Bruce emerged as he looked around at the place. Steve’s apartment was just as sparse as Bruce’s room, but there was a charm to it, a timelessness particular to Steve. There was military memorabilia and the few personal belongings of his that had been held onto over the years. Old sketches of World War II soldiers hung framed on the walls – one with a bowler and a handlebar mustache, an Asian man in a US Army uniform, a woman with dark lips and a heavy bosom, someone who looked a hell of a lot like a younger Tony Stark…

“Is that Tony?” Bruce asked, and Steve looked up from the couch. He was sitting down looking through a crate of records at his feet – turns out people _did_ still sell them, and old ones were pretty cheap by today’s standards.

“No, it’s his father,” Steve said, and he went back to flipping through records. “Howard Stark. He was a friend of mine…before.” Bruce came and sat on the couch beside Steve, and he let their sides press flush together as he leaned over to look at the records, too. “All those are friends of mine from my army days. I drew ‘em from memory.”

“You must miss them.”

“Every day.”

Steve felt Bruce’s hand on his chin and he didn’t resist it, didn’t turn red or feel shy or second guess. He turned and met Bruce in a soft kiss, then another, and then their tongues twisted together gently for a moment, Bruce’s hand dipping shyly into the front of Steve’s shirt to rub the soft skin there. They rested their foreheads together when they were done and they stayed quiet for a while, just listening to the traffic go by.

“Let’s dance,” Bruce said finally. “Put a record on.”

Steve realized then that he had actually been holding a record the entire time – Julie London – and he got up to put it on. He'd purchased it only the day before at a record shop in Brooklyn, some skeevy place with marionettes and voodoo dolls all over the walls. He hoped it was a good one because he had no idea who Julie London even was. The clerk recommended it, said it was good dancing music.

The gentle pops of the record needle were all they heard for a moment, and then a sweet trumpet sang out to them as Steve felt Bruce approach behind him. He turned and saw that Bruce had his arms open and Steve stepped in, wrapping both arms around Bruce’s waist as the scientist did the same at his shoulders. They began to move around the room slowly, pressed together closer than ever before during their dances. Steve smelled Bruce’s soft musk all around him, the scent thick where they breathed each other’s air. He could feel Bruce’s chest hair through both of their shirts, and he felt it rustle with their every move.

“We’re not in the proper position, are we?” Steve said in jest, and Bruce only displayed a ghost of a smile. “We’re so close, I’m gonna step on your toes.”

“You won’t,” Bruce said. His fingers brushed at Steve’s neck, tickling his hairline. “Dance with me.”

Julie London’s voice was like black satin as it guided them around Steve’s tiny brown apartment. He’d forgotten to move the coffee table and the chair but they avoided them beautifully, almost as if they weren’t even there. It was almost funny the way they could get caught up in their dance, though they only really knew one step, but it didn’t matter. The foxtrot was simple and adaptable and never-ending, and song after song played as they circled around, hands beginning to stray, kisses coming more and more often, and soon they were just rocking in place by Steve’s couch, feet still, faces pressed together, Bruce’s arms resting on Steve’s shoulders.

_Make me thrill as only you know how, sway me smooth, sway me now_

Steve stopped, and then so did Bruce. The air was heavy around them with anticipation. They both wore their need on their faces, plain for anyone to see. Steve just pressed his hands to Bruce’s shoulders and the scientist got the message, moving to sit on the couch. Steve slowly kneeled in front of Bruce, and the implication of their position alone was enough to make Bruce huff and look away, his eagerness plain. Steve took his chin and turned him back, then gave him the most passionate kiss he could manage as his hands rubbed at Bruce’s already stiffening crotch. Steve had felt it for a while now as they danced, but he couldn’t help himself for continuing to dance with Bruce instead of acknowledging it. He just really enjoyed dancing.

They continued to kiss as Steve caressed Bruce to full hardness, his other hand scratching Bruce’s hairline as their mouths pulled at one another. Bruce’s hands were all over Steve, rubbing his chest and his shoulders and his arms, then stopping to hold his face they kissed. Steve felt Bruce pause for a moment as he unzipped him, but neither stopped as Steve took Bruce into his hand, massaging his cock slowly, getting it even harder. Bruce sighed a bit and broke their kiss, letting his eyes blink languidly before looking back down to see Steve easing back, leaning forward. Bruce sighed again, and then he looked up and out of the window as the wettest, warmest, softest mouth slid around him. He let out an almost sad whimper at a touch too long unknown, and the practical newness of it made his hips inch away slightly; he was already so sensitive and excited. Steve noticed and took Bruce firmly by the hips, keeping him still.

Steve’s blond hair shimmered as his head bobbed gently. Bruce moaned and shyly patted Steve’s hair, and his stomach dropped when he dared to peek down at the action for a moment. Bruce found it so fucking hot that he could only moan and try to pull away again, but Steve held him still.

“Shit,” Bruce grunted, and he couldn’t stop himself…he reached into Steve’s hair, caressing it and gently cradling his head as he sucked his dick. Bruce’s whole body was warm, on the verge of hot. "You've done this before, I'm guessing." Bruce's comment came out stilted and ragged, and Steve smirked to himself as he sucked on the head, his tongue snaking around it in the darkness of his hot mouth, and Bruce could feel his cock leaking gently. Steve sucked harder when he tasted Bruce running off, savoring it, and Bruce gasped, holding his breath for a moment, barely able to hold back.

“Oh god,” he huffed, and his hand balled up into a fist in Steve’s short hair. Bruce began to move Steve’s head up and down on his cock, and Steve held his hips tight as he pulled them towards him with each dip of his head. Bruce stared and mumbled dirty things between moans – “ _so_ fucking good…suck my cock, Steve” – his eyes rolling around in his head as his cock leaked and pulsed in Steve’s mouth.

Bruce’s stomach began to tingle and sweat rolled down his forehead…he could feel it, rumbling low in his stomach for the first time in years, and he leaned down and whispered lowly to Steve, “I wanna come in your fucking mouth. Please.” He pulled Steve off of his cock and angled his face up to him, pressing a firm and almost delirious kiss onto his shining lips.

“Anything,” Steve groaned, but it was lost in their kiss, both of them now devoid of any gentlemanly tendencies they might have once had, and Bruce pulled away to say more nasty words before carefully easing his cock back into Steve’s mouth.

Once Steve had taken him in Bruce began to fuck his throat anxiously, still gripping his hair firmly but not moving any more aggressively than Steve could handle. Steve moaned around Bruce’s cock, his lips loose and greedy as Bruce guided him up and down, hips joining in with every stroke. Somewhere inside of Steve’s lusty haze he now understood what Bruce meant in the lab that day. The man above him was lost, eyes lidded and mouth gaping, breathing heavily with every thrust. He was just moving, just…doing. Green guy or not, it didn’t scare Steve at all.

Steve could feel Bruce’s balls pulling away from his hands so he prepared himself for the possibility of gladly choking on come, and he knew it was time when Bruce let go of his hair and fell back against the couch. Bruce dropped his head back and began moaning and panting, eyes fluttering as his insides throbbed and forced everything inside of him into Steve’s waiting mouth. Steve’s own cock was throbbing now as he dutifully swallowed all of Bruce’s come almost as quickly as it was running into his mouth. Steve pulled away finally, needing to breathe, and he stroked Bruce’s cock languidly as the very last of his come dripped in a smooth line down its length.

“Holy shit,” Bruce breathed, and he hissed as Steve licked him clean. Steve looked up and grinned a bit, letting go of Bruce’s cock as they leaned together to share a deep kiss. Their tongues intertwined and Bruce could taste salt, coffee, gum…when he bit Steve’s lip they both moaned. Bruce reached down between them and felt Steve’s cock, thick and pulsing in his pants. Steve mewed into Bruce’s mouth and looked away for a moment, and when he looked at Bruce again he knew he still didn’t have to say anything.

So instead of speaking, Steve just stood and walked to his bedroom. Behind him he could hear Bruce’s shoes hitting the ground as he dug through the drawers of his bedside table to eventually find a condom and his bottle of lube. It was upmarket stuff, European silicone-based hypoallergenic something or other, and he’d regretted buying it at first because it was so modern and fancy. He turned and went back to the living room, and though the search had killed his boner a bit, it perked right back up at the sight of Bruce wiggling out of his pants as he sat on the couch. Steve came back to kneel beside him as he unhooked his belt and unzipped his trousers.

Bruce turned and swung his legs up onto the couch, resting his head on the arm. Steve knelt between them, leaving one foot on the floor as he picked up both of Bruce’s legs, pulling him down into a deep slouch, angling his ass right where he wanted it. He quickly pulled out his cock and hoisted Bruce’s legs up onto his shoulders, and meanwhile Bruce was leaning over and taking the bottle of lube out of his hand. He grabbed the condom too, only to toss it onto the coffee table.

“Don’t need it,” he said at Steve’s questioning glance. “You can’t get sick, and I’m clean. Anyway, you’re gonna come in me.” He squeezed lube into Steve’s open palm, then applied some to his own fingers.

Bruce was hasty with his preparation, sliding two fingers inside of himself and rearing up at the touch. Steve coated his erection in smooth-as-silk silicone as he watched Bruce’s fingers spread and twist inside of him – he felt his cock throb in his hand and he had to let go and look away, lest he end up coming all over Bruce and himself.

“Fuck me,” Bruce said, and Steve looked back, Bruce’s leg still in his free hand. Steve gripped Bruce’s buttock firmly with his other hand, lifting his hips a bit, and when Bruce felt Steve’s cock pressing against him he went still, relaxed, still panting from his own orgasm and fully looking forward to granting Steve one as well.

Steve slid inside of Bruce carefully, inching forward slowly to eventually meet his hips with Bruce’s ass. Steve leaned down and kissed him, his mouth still wet and shining, and he kept himself close as he began to pick up his pace and stroke steadily in and out. Bruce was tight but his body yielded easily and quickly, and Steve hooked his arms under Bruce’s knee to hold him closer, spread him wider, fuck him deeper. Steve gasped at the new sensation as he shifted his stroke, eyes rolling, he was so close to coming already, but then he slowed down for a moment, desperate for it not to end so quickly.

He looked up and watched Bruce’s eyes close slightly as Steve’s hand slid up his chest, and he grinned when Bruce reached out as well, caressing his neck and face and whispering dirty things. Bruce watched Steve as he sat back a bit, quickening his pace again and letting himself feel the pleasure, the warm ripples that coursed through him with every stroke of his hips. Bruce let his hand slide down to Steve’s waist and then up his shirt, finding Steve’s nipple, and when their eyes met his he couldn’t help giving it a firm pinch. Steve looked away and attempted to bite back a moan, his face burning red but his eyes squinting, and when Bruce twisted his nipple Steve slammed into him, trembling, eyes clenched shut, overwhelmed.

“ _F-fuck_ ,” was all Steve could say, and he just sat there for a moment, just shaking and breathing deep, embarrassed but fucking _loving_ it, and nodding for Bruce to give him more.

Bruce twisted again and Steve kept fucking him, slamming so hard into him that the couch was scooting from its moorings. Steve just moved with it, unrelenting as he gripped the arm of the couch above Bruce’s head, his other arm easily holding Bruce up off of the cushion as he fucked hard into him.

“ _Goddamnit_ – I’m sorry,” he rasped, though his face was almost snarling with expression. “Don’t…wanna hurt you…” Steve began to sag down a bit, his composure slowly draining away as his orgasm built.

“You won’t hurt me,” Bruce mumbled shakily as his body thumped against the upholstery, the joints of the couch now squeaking rhythmically with their sex. “Jesus, look at you…perfect.” Steve fell down on top of Bruce now, his thrusting starting to become erratic as he held onto the arm of the couch again, using it for leverage as he drove his cock hard into Bruce’s ass. Steve buried his face Bruce’s neck, breathing a wild pant that slowly evolved into the neediest moan Bruce had ever heard. Bruce’s lips found Steve’s earlobe, biting him there, sucking and nuzzling his sensitive neck.

“Come in me,” he whispered into the hot flesh of Steve’s neck, lifting his hips to meet Steve’s hard thrusts. Steve looked at Bruce with glistening eyes and a red face, his jaw hanging in shock at the pure bliss he felt. His stomach was dropping, and he had to shut his eyes as he came forcefully inside of Bruce. He wrapped both arms around Bruce’s waist and held him firmly as he trembled between his legs, his hips jerking and thrusting sporadically, his body already slumping from exhaustion though his orgasm was not finished. He was still coming as he finally let their bodies slump down onto the couch, and Bruce wrapped his arms around Steve, stroking his hair and kissing his face.

“So,” Bruce panted, his cheek against Steve’s, “I’m guessing that you’ve probably done that before, too.”

Steve laughed, and his face was exhausted but guilty when he turned to look up at Bruce. “Yeah,” was all he said.

Steve shifted to a more comfortable position on top of Bruce and sighed, catching his breath. It was only 8 o'clock and he knew of a great place on Bay Parkway for Italian, but they'd order something later. Right now, Steve didn't want to move a muscle.

 

 

 

They arranged their spread of stuffed shells and fried cheese and bruschetta and manicotti and eggplant parmesan and wedding soup and cannoli all over Steve’s coffee table, and they mostly ignored _Red Dawn_ as it played on the old-style television in front of them. Steve liked war movies, but not this one. They tried again later with _Private Benjamin_ , which made Steve roar with laughter, to Bruce’s surprise. They ate every bit of their food and then stood to dance again, this time waltzing to a classical record until they both yearned for bed.

There was no TV in Steve’s bedroom, but that was alright. Bruce found a book to read, _Alive_ , and Steve picked up the newspaper. Only an hour passed before Steve found Bruce sleeping beside him, his book flat on his chest. He put both his newspaper and the book on the bedside table, then settled down along Bruce’s side.

 

 

*

 

 

A cell phone rang and Steve stirred, moving to sit up, but he stopped himself when he felt Bruce’s warmth behind him, pressed flush along the back of his body. Bruce wasn’t holding him but he was close, full against him with his face pressed into the crook of Steve’s neck. He didn’t snore when he slept. He seemed endlessly peaceful.

Steve reached out carefully and picked up his phone to see that Tony was calling.

“Hello.”

“Where are you? You stole my scientist, didn’t you?”

“What time is it?”

“Okay, it’s only like 9 am but I haven’t seen either of you since – I mean Bruce missed dinner! That does _not_ happen. You know it’s his turn to cook tonight, right?”

Steve faltered for a second. Should he admit that Bruce was with him? He didn’t know if Tony knew they’d left together last night, but then again he’d already learned his lesson about secrets and Stark Tower. Besides, there were very few places for either of them to abscond to nowadays, and it was no surprise that Tony would guess Bruce’s whereabouts correctly.

“We’re in Brooklyn. At my place.” He felt Bruce’s breathing lighten up from the long, deep breaths that let him know he was asleep.

“At _your_ place?” Tony said, his voice baffled, and Steve braced himself for Tony’s disapproval. “You took him on a date to _Bensonhurst_? I woulda gotten you a suite for the night, Rogers.” Steve couldn’t help but grin at that. “You know I own the oldest hotel in Tribeca – beautiful woodwork, crystal chandeliers-"

“It went fine without all that.”

“I’m sure it did. Look, a car will be there to collect you two in half an -" Steve’s groan made Tony pause, and his voice was playful when he spoke again. “Sleepin’ in, eh? I thought _you’d_ be up by now.”

“Is that Tony?” Steve heard, and he felt Bruce’s lips moving against the back of his neck. “Tell him to send a car at, like, noon or something. I gotta get in the lab at some point today.”

“Noon, got it,” Tony chirped. “I heard him. See you around lunchtime, fellas.”

“Thanks. See ya.”

Steve hung up and put down his phone, and when he laid back down he felt Bruce wrap an arm around him and pull him closer, pressing his crotch into Steve’s ass. They both had slept only in boxer shorts, and the thin fabric did little to disguise either of their excitement. Steve shifted his shoulder back and turned his head to kiss Bruce, long and slow, their mouths still sweet from last night’s cannoli. Bruce’s hand roamed around his chest, fingers brushing his nipples and swirling down his stomach, not even hesitating before dipping under the waistband of his boxers.

“Three hours ‘til noon,” Steve mumbled into their kiss, and he was hushed by the hot hand that wrapped around his cock, already firm beneath the covers. Steve slowly rocked his hips back, then forward, pumping his cock in and out of Bruce’s fist while being sure to rub against the hard-on pressing against his ass. Bruce kissed his neck, bit him there lightly, and it was enough to make Steve curse out loud. Bruce grinned; he still couldn’t quite believe it whenever he heard Steve swear, no matter the circumstances.

“Do anything you want to me,” Steve breathed, eyes half-shut, his mouth loose and blissful as Bruce jerked him off.

“Anything?” Bruce whispered into his skin, and his thumb swirled mercilessly around the glistening head of Steve’s cock. The soldier shuddered and let out a shaky breath, and the way Bruce’s erection poked at him made his hips buck languidly, his desire rising.

“I’m yours,” he moaned, and twisted to kiss Bruce again. He used a thumb to pull down his boxers then, and he felt Bruce smile against his neck. “Anything.”

Steve felt Bruce roll away for a second, and when he rolled back he felt a slick finger moving up and down the cleft of his ass, lower and lower until it gently poked at his entrance.

Bruce took his time easing his finger in, and then another, and he was sure to add more lube all the while. His hands were shaking by the time he went to slick himself up, it had been so long since he’d had sex with _anyone_ , let alone a marathon sex tryst with one as lovely as Steve.

Bruce got up on his elbow and moved as close as possible to Steve, using his hand to spread Steve’s ass while his hips guided his cock in slowly. He leaned over a bit and watched Steve, who lay quietly on his pillow, eyes widening before blissfully fluttering shut at the feel of Bruce’s hips against his ass. Bruce kept his pace slow as he let go and draped his other arm over Steve’s, finding his hand and threading their fingers together. Steve moaned and arched his hips back, meeting Bruce’s thrust, encouraging him. Bruce gusted warm breaths across Steve’s shoulder and down his chest, and his pace quickened as Steve began to thrust back at him. Bruce let go of Steve’s hand and took him by the hips to pull him back on his cock, making their bodies slap together loudly. He did it again and Steve whimpered in front of him, fist twisted in his pillow now, the bed squeaking with the force of Bruce’s every thrust.

Bruce’s lips were hot and present at Steve’s ear, and his voice was quiet and gruff when he whispered, “You want it like that?” And he fucked into Steve harder now, making the soldier wail blissfully. “Want me to fuck you hard?” Steve nodded, warbling, unable to form words. “I like the way you take my fucking cock…”

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Steve breathed through the blur of pleasure overtaking him. Bruce fucked hard and talked dirty. Steve would have never guessed it in a million years. Perhaps others were frightened by such behavior out of a man with a monster inside of him, but all it did to Steve was make his dick hard as a rock.

Bruce hooked his arm across Steve’s chest now, pressed as close as possible as he pounded his hips mercilessly against Steve’s ass. He angled up, fucking hard, and Steve thought he saw fireworks when Bruce’s cock began grazing against that _sweet fucking spot_ …and Bruce slowed then, slowed significantly, and Steve could feel him shaking his head vigorously behind him. He’d lost himself for a moment there – they both had.

“Fuck,” Bruce mumbled, and he went to move again but was almost startled when Steve began thrusting back at him, his hips moving languidly at first. “ _Shit_ , Steve, look at you” – and Bruce cut himself off as he moved to meet his hips to Steve’s ass, and again, their pace building. “Goddamn,” he groaned into Steve’s shoulder, and again he took Steve’s firm buttock into his hand, pulling his ass back and spreading him, angling his hips up, his balls now slapping Steve’s ass obscenely.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve said again, clearer this time, and he reached back to grab Bruce’s hip, pulling him hard into him with every thrust. “Fuck me, Bruce.” He pushed back harder, and he couldn’t helped but be impressed with himself by the flash of surprise that peppered Bruce’s dark, focused moans right before he matched Steve’s efforts, making Steve cry out again.

Bruce’s hand wrapped around Steve’s cock again, moving fast, the force amplified by their fucking. Steve guessed he only had a few seconds of this left in him, and it didn’t help when Bruce pressed his hot mouth against his ear again, groaning and mumbling barely intelligible but certainly dirty things. The hand on Steve’s cock began to lose its rhythm, and so did Bruce’s hips as he began muttering, “Yeah yeah yeah you want this fucking come, don’t you, gonna shoot my fucking load in your gorgeous tight fucking ass – _ugh, fuck_ -"

And Steve could feel it, hot and sticky and washing over a spot deep inside of him, and now he was coming in Bruce’s hand, Bruce's cock still buried in him, every surge of Bruce’s orgasm washing over Steve’s own.

Soon their bodies relaxed and they slumped back down on the bed together, and Bruce’s erection eventually began to shrink and wither inside of Steve. They could feel Bruce’s juices leaking out and it made them both shiver and – for some reason – move closer, press harder together as if to keep that from happening again.

“How about _that_ ,” Steve breathed, and he rested his arm on top of Bruce’s when he draped it around him again. “You’ve got one hell of a pottymouth on you, Banner.” He didn’t even have to turn around to know that the man behind him was blushing fiercely. Steve could feel the face against his neck heating up more and more.

“You said a couple of bad words, too,” Bruce said. “You know I don’t mean anything by that stuff."

“I know,” Steve said. “No complaints here.” He reached out for his cell phone.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked, his expression puzzled and possibly even annoyed.

“Telling Tony to send the car at two,” Steve said as he typed out a text message, and he hit ‘send’ and sat the phone down before making sure it was successful. He turned over onto his back, arcing his head up gracefully to press a warm kiss onto Bruce’s lips. “Let’s stay here a little bit longer.”

 

 

*

 

 

Steve’s door was open when Tony walked in looking horribly out of place in a blue three piece suit and Bernard Willhem trainers. He seemed stunned silent by the utter simplicity of Steve’s place – old tube-style television with a VCR, a record player, a _separate_ radio…he peered into the decidedly old-style kitchen to see Steve and Bruce standing there mumbling to each other, faces grinning and totally unaware of his presence. They both had soggy hair and though the kitchen was clean, it still smelled of bacon and French toast. Seemed they’d only been out of bed for maybe an hour, possibly even less than that.

“Looks about right,” Tony said out loud, and they both looked up quickly and _just smiled_ at him. “I like it – really, I do. Reminds me of my grandma’s place.”

The other two were now walking into the living room, passing Tony and heading to the door. “Ready to go?” Steve asked as he stood in the doorway. Bruce nodded and stepped out in front of Steve, who continued to hold the door for Tony, who was walking out.

“Nice to see you, too, guys,” Tony said, but he grinned as he put his shades back on.


	7. Safe Places (The Definiton of Making Love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Good. Because home is completely different from 'a safe place to go.' We have a spot in Brooklyn for that.”_

Steve waited and waited for days, a week almost, but it never came.  The staring, the grins, the questions about their whereabouts that night.  He figured that since Tony knew what was up then _everyone_ would know, and Steve felt that maybe he was too new at this to deal with the criticisms and teasing, however well-meant it would be.  Thankfully, the universe seemed to want to spare him that experience because either no one noticed or cared except Tony, and that was (surprisingly) fine with him.

Another thing that never came was the awkwardness.  Steve couldn’t help but think about all the times after they’d kissed before – the silence, his hesitation to sketch in the lab, not being able to find Bruce come dinnertime.  They’d done _a lot_ more than kiss this time around, and also there wasn’t the specter of Maria hanging over them now, and that seemed to relax things quite a bit as well.  Enough time had passed for Steve to start slowly getting over some of the guilt he felt for his stupendously failed attempt at heterosexuality – well, he _had_ managed to fuck a girl since he woke up, yes, but dating…he clearly wasn't cut out for dating women.  Or at least Maria Hill.

He had spent every night for the past six days rolling around with Bruce, and the mornings as well.  His quiet presence was welcome in the lab even by Tony, who often insisted on being drawn (though he was horrible at keeping still).  He never ate a meal alone anymore.  He always had something or someone to draw.  His evenings were wonderfully monotonous, thrilling and boring in absolutely the best way.  Watching movies with Clint, martial arts lessons with Natasha, Bruce teaching him new dances and kissing him for hours.  

What had he been fighting all this time?  Who was he kidding?  

 

*

 

Steve navigated his way around Bruce, who was leaning over and checking the lasagna, to dump a pot of pasta into the colander in the sink.  They both craved Italian and since this was strictly their night to have home-cooked food, they couldn’t order Ortobello’s for the team.  Bruce had started his pasta sauce almost four hours earlier, and now they were using it in every dish they made.  Steve had been nice enough to babysit the pot while Bruce worked, and now they were about an hour away from serving time though they had only another half hour of preparation.  The sounds of Machito and Graciela filled the room as steaming pots rumbled on the stovetop.  Steve liked cooking all day.  

Natasha and Clint walked through, both sweaty and panting, clearly fresh from the gym.  “What are you two making for us tonight?” Clint asked, but they didn’t wait on the response as they continued towards their rooms.  

“Italian,” Steve called back at them, shaking the pasta around in the colander.  

“I love Italian,” he heard, and he looked up when he realized that neither Clint nor Natasha had said that.  There was Nick Fury, all eyepatch and coattails and strolling through the living quarters of Avengers Tower (let’s be honest here) like he owned the place.  Steve was already trying to suppress his scowl (no one likes it when the boss shows up unannounced, especially in their home) when he felt every muscle in his body clench, because Nick Fury drifted off of his left to show that Maria Hill had been walking behind him the whole time.  Tony was there too, talking Hill’s ear off as she decidedly ignored him, eyes just washing across the room and pausing briefly on the two cooks.  Even Bruce seemed to be given pause, the salad tongs in his hand going still for a few seconds before he continued to toss.

“Surprise, surprise,” Fury said, and Steve forced his face to straighten out considerably as Fury, Maria, and Tony approached the bar.  “I didn’t know you could cook, Captain.”

“He enjoyed it more when he was a younger man,” Bruce spoke up, and all eyes went to him as they laughed.  Fury and Maria both had tense eyes as they laughed, but Tony didn’t seem impressed or surprised at all by Bruce ribbing Steve a bit.

“Getting comfortable here at Stark Tower, Dr. Banner?” Maria asked.

“Looks that way,” he responded, sitting the salad on the bar with the rest of what was ready to eat.  “I’ve been here for a couple of months now, so…I mean, I probably shouldn’t call it ‘home,’ but…it’s nice to have a safe place to go.”

“Now why shouldn’t you call it home?” Tony asked pointedly, gesturing with his scotch.  Bruce just grinned and turned back to the stove, where Steve stood.  “You know they cook for us once a week, right?”

Behind him Steve could  hear the amused whispers of Maria and Fury, then Maria asked, “Both of them?”

“Yeah.  You’re welcome to stay for dinner, I’m sure.”  

Bruce was rifling through the fridge for something that he clearly couldn’t find, and then he turned to the elevators, mumbling about organic feta that he’d left in the lab’s fridge.  Steve’s eyes followed him all the way over, and when he stepped into the elevator Bruce said softly, “Be right back.”  Steve smiled and nodded.

He went to turn back to the oven and his eyes caught Maria’s, and he didn’t like the grin on her face.  At all.

“And _there_ it is,” she said, and Tony was standing before Steve’s blush could even set in, before he could even feign ignorance out loud.

“Boss man, take a walk with me,” he said, pressing his hand to Fury’s shoulder in an uncharacteristically forceful way.  Steve half-expected Fury to protest but he had a feeling that this man was closer to Maria than most people realized.  Fury knew what was going on.

“Got something new to show me?” he said as he stood, walking casually with Tony as they babbled on together.

Steve and Maria both waited for Tony and Fury to make it around the corner, and they both went to speak when they met eyes again.  Maria stopped herself and folded her hands on the countertop, and there was something exasperated in her smile.

“Steve, there’s no need for us to have this conversation,” she says.  “I can see that you’re happier now and besides, you never promised me anything.  We were never…look, don’t worry about it.  Sorry I said anything.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Well, no lady wants to be made to look like a fool, but like I said.  You weren’t really mine in the first place.”  She reached out and picked up Tony’s whiskey, left unattended, and took a modest sip.  “I know you’re still finding your way around the 21st century, and I know that when you were young it wasn’t as easy for…you probably got used to playing along to some degree, and that’s fine.  But please – know that nowadays you don’t have to do that anymore.”

The elevator dinged and Bruce walked out, feta in hand.  Maria smiled at him and then drained the rest of Tony’s drink before standing.  

“Just be yourself, okay?” Maria said, and she reached out to pat his hand.  “Our transport upstate leaves in an hour.  I gotta go find Fury.”

“Alright.  See ya.”

She waved to Bruce as she walked away, down the hallway where Tony had led Fury.  Bruce waved back as he walked up to Steve, who was now placing a perfect white lasagna on a hot pad on the countertop.  Bruce took his place beside Steve and they stayed quiet for a moment, just arranging food and crumbling cheese and preparing stacks of silverware and plates.

“Are they staying for dinner?” Bruce asked as he counted out bread plates, and Steve shook his head as he added feta to the salad.

“Nah, their transport leaves in an hour,” Steve said.

“Good thing?”

“I don’t think it’s like that with her, actually.  Doesn’t seem that angry.”

“Really?  She probably doesn’t know about all that making out we did.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Steve stopped crumbling feta into the salad and sighed a breath of relief that he didn’t know he had been holding.  “She told me to be myself.  She just seemed a little annoyed that I was pretending with her.”

“You were pretending? The whole time?” Steve nodded, and Bruce chuckled quietly as he continued.  “Well, you fooled me.  I thought you were really into her for a while there.”

Steve leaned over and brought his lips an inch from Bruce’s ear – not only because he didn’t want it to be heard by stragglers but also because Bruce was warm, he smelled so good, and he could barely handle the heat of Steve’s mouth _anywhere_ near him nowadays.  

“I should probably feel worse than I actually do,” Steve whispered, and he liked the way Bruce’s smiled brightened reluctantly at that.  “It was only ever you.”

Their eyes met and Bruce leaned up to press a small kiss onto Steve’s lips.  “I shoulda figured,” he said, his voice low.  “So, are we…I mean we don’t have to call it _anything_ if you think that’s best, but…I don’t wanna do that thing where two people are just playing along.”

“Bruce, come _on_ ,” Steve said.  “We’ve been dating for months.”

Bruce chuckled and blushed, wrung his hands a bit and then stopped, nodding nervously as though it was their first day on the Helicarrier, the first time they ever met.  

“May _be_ ,” he said softly, almost imperceptibly, and he was louder when he continued with, “And hey - you’ve already managed to cheat on me.”

Steve smiled softly, then said, “You know this is your home, right?”  Bruce just smirked, and Steve’s face became more serious.  “ _This_ is your home.” Bruce nodded, refusing to fight it anymore, and Steve’s smile came back.  “Good.  Because home is completely different from 'a safe place to go.'  We have a spot in Brooklyn for that.”

Bruce’s expression wavered for a moment, but he found his composure enough to whisper a small, “Thank you.”  They kissed again, mouths yielding effortlessly and naturally, Steve’s hand sliding around Bruce’s waist.

“Is dinner ready?”

“Break it up – let’s eat.”

Two voices rang out, and it smelled like Clint and Natasha had only changed clothes instead of showering - but they were all past formalities like that.  Steve impressed himself by not yanking away and whipping around in embarrassment.  Instead he and Bruce laughed into each other’s mouths and slowly turned away from each other to pick up dinner plates.  Clint and Natasha appeared in their periphery as they laughed their embarrassment off, the two assassins cutting huge chunks of lasagna for themselves.

“Move,” Clint mumbled at Steve as he went for the salad, and Steve grabbed his own plate and began preparing his meal.  Tony appeared and piled his plate high, and Pepper arrived a few minutes later to follow suit. They’d stopped eating around the table at some point in the last month and now all laid around on couches and cushions, in chairs and on the floor.  Typically they took turns channel surfing or watched a movie while they ate, but tonight Pepper rested her hand on Tony’s when he went for the remote. “I like this music,” she said.

Cuban jazz still filled the air, and they went through a few bottles of wine as they enjoyed the meal and the sounds.  Light pollution made the sky flat back out of their windows, no stars visible, but it was still gorgeous as New York glittered below them, quiet up so far from the streets.  Steve talked with Clint and Natasha while Bruce chatted up Tony and Pepper, and somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind he thought he recognized the song playing.  

_When we dance, you have a way with me / stay with me / sway with me_

He and Bruce were beside each other, hands clasped and pushed into the cushion between them, out of sight of the others.  He caressed Bruce’s hand with his thumb and he felt the scientist squeeze softly, still talking to Tony but still present with Steve.

Clint and Natasha were talking now, and Steve took to humming the melody of the song, the song that had coaxed him closer and closer to Bruce, helped him feel even warmer against him, made him want to taste his flesh.  One line in the song had stuck out to him that night.  He had actually taken care to commit it to heart.

“ _I can hear the sound of violins long before it begins…_ ” Steve sang softly, and finally Bruce turned to look at him, his face playful and warm.  Bruce recognized it, too.  He pulled their hands free from the space between them, letting them rest on his thigh.  If people were looking at them, they weren’t aware of it.  

“Dance with me,” Steve said, not asked, because at this point it wasn’t a question.  There was never an answer besides yes.

“Oh, are we dancing now?” Tony said jovially, already standing and pulling Pepper up with him. She protested mildly but still fell right into position with him, and they began to carelessly mambo their way around the room, all elbows and hips and laughter.  Steve and Bruce stood then, and Steve led their familiar foxtrot with both arms around Bruce’s waist and his chin on his shoulder.  Clint and Natasha were the only ones still seated, and one wary look from Pepper was all it took to get them on their feet and dancing – albeit with about 3 feet of space between them, junior prom-style as they rocked stiffly to Julie London’s buttery voice.  Pepper was laughing jovially at something Tony said, her face going slightly red as he whispered in her ear, her eyes darting to Steve and Bruce for a quick second before she nodded in all too casual of a fashion.  _Ah well_ , Steve thought.  _I’m sure Tony would telegram it to Asgard if he could.  Then everyone would know._

But he didn’t care.  It almost shocked him to realize this – almost.  When he thought back about it, had he ever cared at all?  Had he ever attempted to downplay his attraction to Bruce?  Had he ever tried to pretend that this thing between them wasn’t happening?  Had he done any more than just “play along” with Maria?  He knew the guilt should still be biting at him but it wasn’t, especially now that he was sure he had Maria’s forgiveness – or at least her understanding.  He didn’t feel anything right now except the heat of the man in his arms, smelled only homemade Italian and Bruce’s rich and sweet scent, and thought only of that night at his apartment, this same record playing, the noise of Bensonhurst going quiet as he swayed with Bruce.

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but then thought better of it.  Bruce seemed to notice and lifted his head off of Steve’s shoulder, his eyes asking a silent question.  _Be yourself_ , he thought, but still.  Subtlety counts for a lot in the 21st century.

“I was just gonna say,” Steve said, “that I love dancing with you.  Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Bruce’s smile went almost goofy at that, and he looked to his shoes for a moment as he impressed Steve with the depth of his blush.  He finally looked back up, chewing his lip for the first time in ages it seemed.  He appeared to have a hard time finding Steve’s eyes but he finally held their gaze, and there was something glassy there that hadn’t been before.

“Well, well,” Bruce said.  “I love dancing with you, too.  I really can’t think of anything better.”  

It was then when Steve noticed how close their faces were, closer than Tony and Pepper even, who were always nuzzling and nipping at each other.  Steve stood still and leaned down to Bruce, kissing him warm and deep, present company be damned.  The fingers brushing Steve's hairline told him that Bruce didn't care either.  His pulsed jumped when he felt Bruce's teeth scraping his lip and Steve opened his eyes to find Bruce's eyelids parted just slightly, mouth grinning as he slowly let Steve's lip go.

So it didn't matter if Steve hadn't said what he was actually thinking.  He knew how to get his point across.

They were jostled to the left when Tony and Pepper bumped into them.  They were the only ones still partner dancing, spinning around in a waltz while Clint and Natasha stood apart from each other and improvised to the up-tempo, beachy song that played.  Steve didn't blush, just nodded and scooted out of the other couple's way to let them continue dancing.

"You know," Tony said, "you two don't get to make out willy-nilly-all-over-the-place just because no one gives a shit."  Pepper punched Tony playfully on the shoulder, but he just smiled at her.  "Especially in the middle of the dance floor."

"He's right," Steve said, looking at Bruce.  "Let's get lost."

They left their friends dancing in the common room and went to Bruce's bedroom, where Steve was now keeping one of his extra uniforms in the closet.  Just in case.  Steve was untucking his shirt when he looked up to see Bruce in front of the closet door and staring at his uniform, hanging red-white-and-blue amongst Bruce's rather drab wardrobe.  Steve walked up and pressed his hands to Bruce's shoulders, letting them slide down his arms.

"Looks good in there," Bruce said.  "You can bring your shield, too, if you want."

"Lets go to bed," Steve said.

And they did.  It had only taken a week for them both to figure out that they didn't need grunting and dirty words and couch sex all the time, that they could climb into a bed with each other and actually make love, sweet and painfully slow, all lips and hands and quiet, whispered words.  And that's what it was - making love.  Steve finally knew what it meant to _make love_ , to love the person he was sleeping with, and it didn't matter that neither of them had actually said the words earlier that night.  The words were there whenever they left each other meals in the microwave.  Or when Steve insisted on clarification of a dance step that he already knew.  Or when, a few weeks later, Steve put a sketchbook and his favorite pencils in a drawer on Bruce's desk, and it excited him more than bringing his shield would have.  

They did say the words eventually, during a post-coital snuggle on an otherwise dull night.  Steve just rolled over and spooned Bruce tight to him, said the words into the nape of his neck, and they were whispered back into his knuckles right before Bruce kissed them.  There were no tears or wild hugs because this was old news for them, just a simple statement of an obvious fact.  Steve thought about pointing that out, but he didn't.  He just pulled Bruce closer, and they fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this work is from the song they love, obviously. [Sway](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bgJsvtNyO50), as sung by Julie London on the album _Latin in a Satin Mood_. One of the author's favorites.


End file.
